Textus
by Fuzzball457
Summary: After moving to a new town for a new hunt, Sam's life starts to spiral down and he finds himself struggling to cope with it all.
1. Moving On

**And now (drumroll please) I present you with my latest story! Originally I wanted to post this story on Monday (because that was my birthday and I thought it'd be a nice present to myself) but I just couldn't get it all finished by then. So we begin today instead. **

**I'm a little nervous about this story, but I certainly enjoyed writing it so I hope you'll all enjoy reading. **

**WARNINGS: This story will contain bullying and self-harm. Consider yourself warned!  
><strong>**Disclaimer: Sadly, Supernatural and it's respective characters don't belong to me.  
>Beta: SparkieBunny<br>Chapter: 1/20  
>Word Count: 2,100<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 1: Moving On**

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><p>Sam carefully shaded in the shadow of the dog he was drawing. He'd seen it while walking home from school that afternoon and wanted to draw it before the image left his brain. It was a large brown dog that was kind of scruffy, in a cute way. The dog had been casually laying in the yard of an average suburban home, and had given Sam a quizzical look when he passed by. As soon as Sam got back, he'd found his sketchpad, which he kept hidden, and tried to duplicate the image in his mind. So far it'd come out quite well, except for the paws. They looked awkward and a little too large but Sam had long ago given up trying to fix them.<p>

He was nearly finished when Dean got back from work fifteen minutes later.

Because there were several hunts in the surrounding area, John had agreed to let them stay for a while. So Sam was enrolled in school and Dean, who had graduated the previous year, found a job at a local mechanic shop.

"Hey," Dean called as he entered the small rented house. It was old and a bit decrepit, but it got the job done.

"Hey," Sam called out. He snagged his geometry book off of the floor and opened to the page in which he'd stuck a sheet of paper that he'd started his homework on.

"Doing homework?" Dean asked as he poked his head in the small room which Sam and Dean shared.

"Yup," Sam said as he jotted down a random equation solely for show.

"You're such a geek," Dean said with a small shake of his head, "but anyway, what do you want for dinner? We can order subs or pizza."

"I don't care," Sam said without looking up.

"Well if you don't pick I'm going to order a large pizza with anchovies and spinach on it." Sam finally looked up to make a face.

"Fine, subs – the usual, please," Sam added. Knowing Dean, he'd probably order some crazy thing like hot sauce and mustard on tuna topped with jalapeños if Sam didn't specify.

"What else would I get?" Dean said, feigning innocence.

"Haha, very funny." Dean smirked before slipping out of the room. Once Sam was sure Dean was gone, he shoved aside his geometry book and looked down at his drawing.

There were many reasons Sam kept his love of art a secret, even he didn't know them all. For starters, Dean would tease him to no end for liking something so 'girly' as he would put it. It didn't seem like something a Winchester would do. They were tough soldiers fighting a never-ending war with evil. They didn't _draw. _His dad would probably make him stop if he found out – would demand he don't waste his time with such foolish activities when he could be training. And it would no doubt cause yet another fight between them. And, really, he had nothing to gain from telling them, but he certainly had stuff to lose. There was also a tiny part of him that worried they would think he was a terrible artist and was wasting his time. No, it was better that they weren't told.

Sam sighed and looked over his dog. It was so close to done…just the facial features left to detail, but he didn't have the time to finish, not now anyways. As much as it bothered him to leave something so close to finished, he tucked the sketchpad and his favorite pencil away in the bottom of his duffle bag.

He climbed back onto his bed and began to truly do his homework.

Ten minutes later, Dean called from the living room, saying the subs had arrived. Sam sat down at the table and picked up his sandwich. He looked it over with a critical eye, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Ignoring the humored look on Dean's face, he tentatively took a bite and was relieved to find that Dean had actually ordered him a pain old turkey and cheddar – his favorite. He continued to munch on his sandwich while Dean chowed down at a much faster rate on his BLT.

"So when's Dad getting back?" Sam asked conversationally.

"Dunno, probably soon though, it's been almost five days." Sam nodded and they continued to eat in silence.

Soon turned out to be the next day when John arrived a little after six.

"Get your stuff packed, we're leaving in the morning," John said gruffly immediately after entering.

"What?" Sam asked, his head jerking up from his homework. Tomorrow? That was so soon, so sudden. They couldn't just up and leave. For one, that'd be rather suspicious and two, what about school and Dean's job? They couldn't just not show up, Sam would have to inform the school he was moving (they'd told the principal it was only temporary, but still he couldn't just up and leave) and Dean would have to quit his job and…tomorrow?

"Yes, tomorrow, now get your stuff together, I want to be out of here early."

"But what about school? I can't just leave, we have to tell them and stuff and…"

"Sam! Pack. Now."

"But that's not fair!" Sam continued. "I have a big history presentation tomorrow! I've been working really hard on it!" Sam snapped. "I can't just let my partner down!" He looked over at Dean for support, but Dean just turned and went into their room.

"Sam, it's just a project, it doesn't matter. And I'm sure your partner will be able to live without you," John said as he went into the kitchen to grab a beer.

"But Dad-" Sam said as he followed John into the kitchen.

"No! Sam, stop it! Why can't you just move on like Dean? We're talking about saving lives, Sam, and you're worried about some stupid school project? Now, go to your room and pack," John finished with a stern tone, leaving no room for argument.

"Why can't we just have a damn normal life?" Sam said as he turned.

"Because that would be selfish!" John growled after him.

Scowling, Sam stalked down the hall. He threw open the door with far more force than necessary causing Dean, who was facing away from the door, to whip around and instinctively lunge for the bag to grab a weapon.

"Chill, it's just me," Sam snapped as he entered the room briskly and shut the door behind him.

"Dude, what the hell's your problem?" Dean scowled as he righted himself.

"What the hell's yours?" Sam instantly replied as he stalked further into the room.

"Gee, maybe the fact the neighbors ten frickin' miles away could hear you and dad going at it then you just stalk in here like it's all my fault?" Dean snapped.

"I didn't say it was your fault," Sam growled as he yanked his duffle from under the bed and tossed it on the old, yellow comforter. He stormed over to the brown bureau in the corner and opened the bottom two drawers, the top two being Dean's.

"Dude, we've been here for almost a month, you had to see this coming soon," Dean reasoned.

"Oh, not you too," Sam said with a roll of his eyes as he ripped clothes from the drawer and tossed them into the duffle, not caring in the slightest that they were a mess.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded. Sam said nothing and continued to pack angrily. His frustration grew as the strap to his duffle got wrapped around his wrist in his haste. "You know what? Dad's right. This shitty attitude of yours has got to go," Dean said simply while Sam continued to struggle with the strap.

Sam whipped around so fast that the duffle was yanked from the bed and thrown to the floor. The sudden weight on Sam's left side caused him to topple over after his luggage and land next to it on the ground.

"So just because I don't like moving from shit-hole to shit-hole, and would actually like to _keep_ a few friends more than a week, means I've suddenly got a shitty attitude?" Sam asked angrily. He attempted to stand up but didn't get far before the duffle tugged on his wrist. He growled and forcibly yanked the strap from around his wrist causing it to tear slightly along the seam.

"No, Sam, you've got a shitty attitude because you can't go one fucking minute without trying to rip Dad's head off about something or other and you _always_ complain every time we move, even though you know we're going to. And you act like what we're doing isn't worthwhile or isn't doing any good. Well newsflash Sam, the world doesn't revolve around you! And this whole questioning Dad's every move thing is just stupid. Don't you trust him?"

"Obviously, Dean-"

"Then act like it!" Dean snarled.

Dean grabbed the wooden handle on the bureau and jerked open the second drawer from the top, nearly hitting Sam in the head, and grabbed his last few items to pack. He crammed them into his already nearly full duffle before zipping it closed with more aggression than necessary. Dean looked around more, as though daring more clothes to suddenly jump out, then, after finding nothing remaining, stormed out the door.

As soon as the door shut behind Dean, Sam grabbed the nearest thing, an AC/DC t-shirt Dean had given him a while ago that he was yet to pack, and pelted it at the wall as hard as he could. All though it didn't exactly make a satisfying noise when it hit the wall, Sam did feel slightly better having physically released some anger.

Once he finished packing five minutes later, Sam was still feeling tense. He unpacked his duffle then repacked, merely so he'd have an excuse to stay in his room and to keep him from throwing everything in the room around.

"Pizza's here," Dean said tersely from the other side of the door. The sound of socks on carpet told Sam that Dean had retreated without a response. Not that Dean was really in any mood to care if Sam skipped meals or not.

Despite the fact that Sam would far rather stay locked away in his room than face his family, he was quite hungry. And if they were planning on leaving early tomorrow, there would most likely be no breakfast. Sam wasn't sure he would be able to make it to lunch tomorrow, that is if they even stopped for lunch as opposed to driving right through it, and decided food was just worth it at the moment.

Sam stepped out into the hallway and began to trudge angrily down, then stopped himself. If he wanted to make it through dinner without any more arguments, he'd have to at least be civil about it. Walking much lighter, Sam entered the kitchen and sat down in one of the last two empty seats at the plastic, blue kitchen table. He grabbed one of the Styrofoam plates and put two pieces of the greasy cheese pizza on it.

Apparently Sam missed the 'bring your own reading material' memo because John was flipping through his journal while Dean was absorbed in the Maxim magazine he was reading. Sam huffed and began to eat his gross pizza.

Sam finished first, mainly because he only ate the two pieces. He rinsed his plate then deposited it in the trash before muttering "Homework," and going back to his and Dean's shared room.

Later that night, as he lay in bed staring at the peeling ceiling, he let his thoughts run rampant. _Selfish. _Both Dean and John had essentially called him selfish. Was he selfish for wanting a normal life? For wanting a life beyond that of hunting? Wasn't it possible that he just wasn't cut out for hunting? Why was that so ridiculously hard for them to understand?

It wasn't fair. They had both had their normal, however brief. Dean had gotten four years of living as a normal family. He could actually remember his mom. But no, not Sam. Because somewhere along the line, someone decided Sam Winchester was just not good enough for any of that.

Would they never understand?

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><p><strong>And there you have the first chapter! Like I said, I'm a little unsure about this story so do me a favor and leave a review! <strong>

**Next post should be in a few days.**


	2. New Kid

**I'm glad you're all enjoying this. I don't normally write this much for one story, so let me know if it's getting too wordy at certain part!**

**The next update won't be this quick, just so you know.**

**This chapter goes out to supernaturalrenegade, for being amazingly awesome and making me smile like a madman! Thanks! **

**Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Warnings: See chapter 1<br>Disclaimer: If owned it I would be sticking my ideas in episodes not in fanfic :)  
>Word Count: 2,110<br>Chapter: 2/20**

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 2: New Kid**

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><p>The scenery blurred past the window as the black muscle car sped down the highway. Sam was lost in his thoughts as he stared out the window.<p>

The morning had started bad enough. As far as Sam could tell both John and Dean were still mad at him and as if that weren't bad enough, his duffle had come back with a vengeance.

The strap, which had been ripped in their fight the previous night, decided it would not tolerate such abuse and halfway to the car, gave out completely. When the duffle had hit the ground, several items tumbled out of the partially zipped top which had been closed in a hurry. The item at the top of the bag had been Sam's sneakers. Sam owned two pairs of shoes. The ones he was currently wearing were the ones he wore on hunts and were more comfortable for that reason. However, they were covered in mud and even tiny specks of blood and, as such, they couldn't be worn to school. But Sam's already falling apart school shoes came off rather worse for wear after the small tumble down the stone driveway. They were still wearable, but they'd need to be replaced soon.

Once Sam had managed to get his stuff together, they'd gotten in the car and drove in an incredibly tense silence for several hours.

Soon they'd be in a new town, hopefully staying long enough to enroll Sam in school.

Dean and John didn't understand his love of school. It wasn't so much the actual schoolwork that he enjoyed, though he did find history fascinating, but more the sense of normality. The chance to be with teens his own age and to talk about something other than hunting; to be able to stress about something other than whether he'd be able to shoot well enough to save his skin should the need arise. It was just so…average and Sam reveled in every minute of it he could get.

Plus, school meant friends. When it came down to it, Dean was really his best friend, but he was also his brother. Sam had learned not to make too many friends at school and to not draw too much attention to himself. That way, when they left, as they always did, it wouldn't hurt as much to leave and his absence wouldn't be the whole talk of the school. But it was still nice to have one or two.

The car slowed down a bit as John took the exit on the right and pulled around the curve of the exit. The town seemed small, but not too small. Not small enough that everyone knew everyone, but enough that any local could probably name at least one person who lived on any given street. Most of the houses were ranch-style houses, but not in a seedy way. If Sam had to pick only one word to describe it, he'd probably choose peaceful or friendly. The only thing that didn't seem inviting about it was a pair of sneakers hanging all alone from a telephone wire. What they were doing there was anyone's guess.

But of course, they drove right past all that until they were into the outskirts of the town. They pulled onto a small road that sloped up a short hill and out of view. They followed the road all the way until it came to a stop in front of a small, brown house. By the looks of it, it was most likely a one story with no basement. However, it was still nicer than their average joint. There was a small white porch on the front that even had little welcome mat in front of the door.

Dean whistled as he came around the car and got a good look at it. John shot him a glare, but explained nonetheless.

"Apparently the guy is pretty rich and stays mostly at his home in Florida, but comes up every now and then. While he's gone he rents it out very cheaply so I thought it was a good deal. What do you think?"

"So we're staying for a while then?" Sam asked eagerly. John looked over at him with a mix of amusement and annoyance.

"Yeah, we're staying.I'm pretty sure there's a werewolf here, but it's about three weeks before the next full moon, so we're here until then. Plus there's a potential hunt nearby that Bobby wants me to take a look at."

Sam could have jumped for joy, but settled on a small smile.

"Dean, help your brother with the bags while I get the door unlocked," John instructed as he headed for the porch.

"This is going to be awesome," Dean said as they went to get the stuff from the trunk. Sam faltered in mid-step.

When he and John fought, they usually went back to normal by the next morning because it was such a regular occurrence. But with Dean…usually grudges were held for longer, sometimes up to a week if they were both in a pissy mood. So Sam was surprised Dean was already over it, not that he wanted to be fighting.

"It's like an actual house and everything," Dean said as he scooped up his own bag as well as their dad's, completely unaware of Sam's surprised look.

As Dean passed Sam by on his way to the house, he winked – _truce?_

Sam couldn't help but smile and wink back – _truce. _

Feeling considerably happier, Sam grabbed his own bag and the weapons bag out of the trunk before shutting it gently. Once Sam had slammed the trunk apparently too hard for Dean's liking because Dean flipped out. At Dean's eighteenth birthday last year, John had promised him the impala as soon as he had found another car. It was a while before John had been able to find and afford a car, but he had eventually found a truck, which was currently waiting for them at Bobby's. They hadn't been close enough to Bobby's yet to be able to make a detour there to get the truck, but Sam was pretty sure their dad intended to go once they left here as a surprise present for Dean.

As Sam made his way to the house, he couldn't help but think that this hunt would be different from the rest, hopefully better.

Two days later found Sam walking nervously to his first class of the day. He was once again the New Kid. As hard as it was, Sam was better at it than most. He'd gotten used to it.

Sam opened the door slowly and peeked in. The teacher appeared to be in the middle of a sentence, but stopped immediately when he saw Sam.

The teacher was somewhat tall and was wearing a striped, short sleeved button up shirt with a bright red tie. He was mostly bald with a bit of grey hair on the sides to match his grey mustache.

"Hello, you must be our new student!" the man said cheerily. "Come on in, don't be shy." Sam stepped in, feeling all the eyes on him. He knew each and every person in this room was looking him up and down, already making judgments about him based on his look, determining which high school social class he fell into. Sam wasn't sure what exactly they were deciding about him, but it was probably poor nerd or something similar. At fifteen, Sam was tall and thin and his clothes, mostly hand-me-downs from Dean were somewhat baggy on him. Although he was catching up to his brother in height, he was behind in muscle.

"You're Sam, correct?" the man asked. Sam gave a small nod. "Well, Sam, I'm Mr. Newman. Class," he said, turning back to address the other 20 or so students in the room, "let's make Sam feel welcome, alright? There's a seat in the back you can have," Mr. Newman said, once again addressing Sam.

Every single eye in the room followed him as he walked to the back and slid into the last seat.

"Would someone grab Sam a text book from the back please?" The girl sitting in front of him complied and handed him a faded green textbook labeled Global Affairs. The teacher informed Sam of what chapter they were on before continuing his lecture on the French Revolution.

Unlike most students, Sam dreaded the lunch bell. For most it was a long needed reprieve from class, but for Sam it meant a whole new type of social hell. After all, in a lunch room of cliques and best friends, where was a friend-less new kid to sit?

Like usual, Sam ended up sitting by himself at a rather dirty table at the back that was apparently the outcast table as it didn't even seemed to be cleaned regularly.

As much as Sam enjoyed school and the normalcy it provided, the first day was always the hardest and Sam was eager to get out. As luck would have it, it started to rain not ten minutes before the final bell.

Dean was once again working at the local garage and John was…somewhere. Maybe also working at the garage or maybe working on a hunt, either way he rarely ever got Sam from school. So Sam would be forced to walk home in the rain, though thankfully it was only about twenty minutes away.

Just as Sam was exiting school ground several people came up behind him.

"Hey, new kid," someone with a deep voice called. Sam turned around to see three larger teenagers standing menacingly in an arc around him. The middle one Sam recognized from Mr. Newman's class.

Mr. Newman was the type of teacher who never liked to tell students they were wrong. If you didn't know the answer, Mr. Newman would do the 'can someone help blank-blank out?' thing instead of just admiting you were wrong. And when Mike hadn't been able to answer the question, Sam had been picked as the unlucky victim to 'help' Mike,

"You think you're real smart, do ya?"

Even though Sam was a pretty good fighter, three guys, who happened to be significantly larger than him, versus one weren't great odds for anyone. He may have been able to hold off two of them, but three of them…he'd most likely be beaten to a pulp. And that wasn't exactly on his to-do list for anytime soon.

"No, I'm not real smart, you're just real dumb," Sam said, feeling gusty. Wouldn't Dean be proud.

"You little piece of shit!" Mike snarled before throwing a punch. Sam skillfully dodged, but knew it was time to get out of there. He threw a hard punch at Mike's midsection, which he failed spectacularly to dodge, then took off running while they were distracted. One of these days, when it wasn't raining and he wasn't quite as new to the area, he'd show them just how good a fighter he was. Though, he'd have to find a way to only fight two at a time because any more and he'd be setting himself up for failure.

His feet slapped the wet cement hard and his shoes provided little comfort causing his feet to ache. He doubted they'd follow him. Why bother when he'd be at school the next day, up for the taking? But he still didn't slow.

Only when the small hill came into view did he slow down. It was actually quite nice to have an actual house to come back to. Glad to finally get out of the rain, Sam entered without thought and went straight for the kitchen. He dropped his soaking bag down on the table and then headed right to the bathroom. Nothing sounded better than a warm shower at that moment.

Just as Sam stepped out of the shower, feeling much better, a voice rang through the house.

"Sam! Get your ass in here!" Would had he done now?

Feeling somewhat foolish, Sam wrapped a towel around himself and made his way into the living room where a pissed-as-hell John stood.

"What is this?"

"Wha-" Sam trailed off as he followed John's gaze to the floor. Right across the floor in the kitchen were big muddy tracks where he'd walked with his soaked shoes.

"Sorry…I-I didn't realize I was leaving tracks," Sam said lamely.

"Obviously. Get dressed then I want this mess cleaned up and get your dirty school bag off the table!" he snapped.

"Yes Sir," Sam said obediently. Now was not a good time for a fight, especially since he was guilty as charged.

Sam shuffled back to the third bedroom in the house, which had been dubbed his. After getting dressed, Sam sent a longing look at his duffle. Between homework and cleaning the kitchen, he'd have no time to draw.

Sam sighed. The dog would just have to wait to be finished.

TBC...

**Review Replies: **Originally, I wasn't going to do this, but for some reason my computer is having trouble letting me send PMs (which include review replies) so this is how I'm gonna do it!

**Judyann: **Thank you for the birthday wishes. You know me, I'm a sucker for a teenchester! Glad you liked the description because I must admit I wasn't really sure what to say for that.

**Catoon Cow:**Aww, that was so sweet! Thanks for that! Sam is certainly tough, but everyone has a breaking point *evil smile*

**Shadow496:**Can I just say wow? I think that's the longest review I've ever gotten, even if it was mostly ranting :) I agree with you 100% about the Winchester boys deserving more than being dragged around by their father. That is one thing I enjoy about writing pre-series stories is you can kind of make the characters do what you want because no one knows for sure exactly what they were like. I apologize if John seemed like too much in the last chapter, but personally, I'm not a huge John fan anyway. And poor Dean always stuck in the middle. I don't mind the rant, I agree with you anyway. That ticked me off a bit in the 6th season – I do know that Sam asked Dean to live an apple pie life but (after getting so upset of Sam leaving) Dean was so incredibly reluctant to leave even once Sammy was back from the pit. Anyway, glad you enjoy and you certainly seem to be agreeing with Sam in my story so that's good!

**1xadzy3dgftw1xLSNx3dgixMGG: **First off, I hope I managed to copy your penname down right! Any chance MGG stands for Matthew Gray Gubler? That was just the first thing that came to mind. Anyway, I also hate when Dean and Sam fight. I do feel bad for Dean though, being in the middle of John and Sam's fights. That's why they made up in this chapter, I just couldn't keep them at odds for long! Thanks for reviewing!

**Loucheena: **Thank you for pointing that out! No one else seems to ever realize that! John started hunting for revenge, not to save people. Sam and Dean didn't have a choice. I can understand Dean because he remembers his mother's death, but not Sam. He's not as personally tied to hunting so I think it makes sense that he'd want out. Thank you for reviewing (man I love long reviews like that!)

**jayfeather63: **I know right? Sam's long fingers would be perfect! Like in the episode, 'Home', when he draws the tree, that a very good tree! Though we see in 'Bedtime Stories' (when he draws a stick figure) that maybe he's not the best at anything that he cant' clearly picture in his mind (keep that in mind as it comes up later in the story) Thanks for reviewing!

**parakeet: **I'm apologize you feel this story is a waste of your time, but seeing as other people certainly seem to be enjoying it, I will not be taking it down. Also, just so you know there is a review posted in chapter one (after yours obviously) that addresses you.

**supernaturalrenegade: **Thank you for your double review. I must say, both of them made me smile. I wasn't going to update until around Monday, but you completely inspired me to post today. Also, thank you for defending me (as well as taking the time to do so!) Hope you like this chapter as well!

**Animefouryou, LeighAnnWallace, casammy, TinTin11: **Thank you for taking the time to review and I promise I'll update soon!


	3. Borrowing

**Alright, well here's the next chapter as promised! I'm going to try and update every other day, so next update on Wednesday! **

**This chapter is one of my favorites as the plot develops a bit more – congrats to Mystery Madchen for (even if she didn't know it) nailing the plot for this chapter. **

**Thanks for all the awesome reviews! Keep them coming, please!**

**Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Warnings: See chapter 1<br>Disclaimer: See chapter 1  
>Word Count: 2, 500 (woo!)<br>Chapter: 3/20 (maybe 21)**

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 3: Borrowing**

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><p>The next morning was rather chaotic as both Sam and Dean had over slept their alarms. A general rule for the Winchesters, whoever went to bed first set the alarm, all the alarms if they got separate rooms. Thankfully they had both been set, but just because there was an alarm didn't always mean you got up when it went off.<p>

Sam ate away at a piece of toast while packing his school bag. He glanced over at the clock, he was running out of time.

"Dean, hurry up!" Because the school was on the way to the mechanics, Dean would usually walk with Sam in the morning. They walked back separately as Dean got out at four and Sam at three. This morning, because they were running late, they'd gotten permission to take the impala from John.

"Dean!"

"I'm coming, already, geesh, give me a sec!"

"I'm gonna be late!" Sam shouted. Shoes…shoes…where were his shoes? He looked around the kitchen for the old grey sneakers. Finally he spotted them by under the table. He went to pull them on only to stop.

They were soaked. And falling apart even worse. If he wore them in this condition they'd no doubt fall to pieces by the end of the day.

"Dean!" Sam called as he jogged down to Dean's room.

"I'm coming!" Dean hollered as he opened the door and literally ran into Sam. "I said I was coming, did you need to stand right there to check?"

"No, Dean, that's not…do you still have your old sneakers? The ones that don't fit you anymore?"

"Uh, yeah, I think I still have them. Why?"

"Can I borrow them?"

"Sure, can I ask why?" Dean asked as he turned and began to dig around his mostly unpacked duffle. After a minute or two, Dean managed to procure the sneakers. They were old, but not falling apart like Sam's were.

"Mine are still wet," Sam said simply. Because of their seedy condition water did far worse damage than it would to good sneakers.

"Thanks!" he called as he went back down the hall, sneakers in hand. Sam crammed them onto his feet, ignoring the fact that they were slightly small.

"Dean!" Sam shouted when his brother still didn't come after him. Someone came into the kitchen, but it wasn't Dean.

"What is all the yelling for?" John demanded as he started making himself coffee.

"Dean's taking too long, I'm gonna be late."

"Dean!" John hollered down the hall before sitting down with his coffee and the newspaper.

"Coming! I'm coming!"

After a little more scrambling, both brothers managed to get in the car with all their stuff and on their way.

"See you around four," Dean called as he pulled away from the curb. Sam turned and began to fast walk into the school and down the hall.

But, try as he might, he still didn't make it to his first class before being spotted by Mike and his goons.

"Hey! New Kid!" Mike called as he caught up with Sam. "I believe we have some unfinished business," Mike hissed under his breath.

"And I believe I'm going to be late," Sam said, trying to slide by. He wouldn't stoop to their level of name calling and verbally degrading people…at least, not yet. If this started getting physical, Sam would certainly rise to the occasion with a few insults, but not now. Now he just wanted to get to class without being late on his second day to school.

"I'm not done with you," Mike growled. He forcefully grabbed Sam on the shoulder and spun him around to face them. The other two Neanderthals each grabbed onto one of his arms and held him in place. Mike leaned forward until he and Sam were almost nose to nose. "You and me. After school. We'll finish what we started yesterday." Mike spun on his heel and strutted away. One of the others slammed Sam sideways, causing him to crash into the locker before they too went after their ring-leader.

Sam stared after them. What was he supposed to do? It's not like he could avoid them, and even if he somehow managed to, they'd just see him the next day anyway. There was a small chance he'd be able to take them all, but he didn't really like fighting all that much. It was necessary training to be a hunter, nothing more to Sam. He certainly got no pleasure out of harming others unless they'd done something truly deserving. And besides, he wasn't even sure he could take all three of them at once. Not without getting himself a good handful of injuries along the way.

This would have to wait until later, he was already late.

The next class Sam had was biology with Mrs. Chambers. Of all the teachers Sam had met so far, she was easily his favorite. He wasn't really sure what it was about her, but there was just some quality about her that seemed to draw everyone to her.

Sam certainly didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with his favorite teacher, but too late. Mike had made him four minutes late. He slowly pushed open the door.

Mrs. Chambers was in her early thirties and had honey brown hair which she kept in bun. But it was her eyes that Sam liked the most about her appearance. They were light blue and were always kind and smiling.

"Sam," she said as he entered. Even when scolding she still seemed friendly. "Please try to be on time next class, alright? Now take your seat." Sam nodded and went to his seat in the back of the middle row.

As much as Sam liked her class, he couldn't help but let his mind wander back to Mike. He still hadn't concluded what his plan of action would be. He most certainly wouldn't be going to Dean with this problem. Oh no, he would prove that he could handle a couple of schoolyard bullies by himself. Besides, if he couldn't do that, how could he expect his dad to believe that he could handle himself on a hunt?

Sam absentmindedly began to draw a tiger-lily flower on the edge of his paper while "taking notes" on Mrs. Chamber's presentation about the cardiovascular system.

He wouldn't hide from them, that was for sure. He was a Winchester, damn it, and he would not let some pea-brained assholes who preyed upon younger kids get to him. Oh yes, he would go, but he wouldn't fight. Not unless he had to. Besides, fighting would draw unwanted attention to him and, by extension, his family. He would just try and ignore them and get home as soon as possible. He would take their petty insults with dignity and not let them affect him. However, if they started a fight, Sam would certainly try to rise to the occasion and show them why you never mess with a Winchester. That was what he would do. Feeling much better having decided a course of action, Sam brought himself back to the present, only to realize Mrs. Chambers was standing right in front of him.

"Please pay attention in my class, Sam," Mrs. Chambers said before turning to go back to the front. She sounded…disappointed. Sam hated that tone of voice, no matter who used it. It was better to be yelled at and have someone furious at you then have to listen to the disappointment in their voice, knowing you let them down.

So much for making a good impression.

"Oh, and, Sam?" Mrs. Chambers added, pausing mid-way up the aisle of desks, "See me after class, please."

Sam gave a small nod as confirmation that he heard and Mrs. Chambers went to the front to continue her presentation.

As requested, Sam stayed behind after the bell signaling the end of class. He grabbed up his stuff and walked to the front of the classroom where Mrs. Chambers sat at her desk writing something. Sam wasn't sure if she was aware of her presence so he lightly cleared his throat. She looked up with her sparkling blue eyes and Sam was surprised to see, not disappointment, but kindness once again.

"Sam, do you have that paper you were taking notes on today?" She asked, surprising Sam.

"Um, yeah," Sam said as he began to dig through his bag for said paper. "Why?" he asked. He felt a little jittery as he put it before her. His notes weren't very good nor were they in-depth enough to actually understand anything from them. He'd been too preoccupied.

"This," she said, fingering the edge that had the flower drawn on it, "is a beautiful flower. A tiger-lily, correct?" Sam nodded, still not knowing where she was going with this. "Did you know that we have a wonderful art program here?" she asked, looking up to meet his eyes.

"No," he said quietly. Well, he probably could have guessed that they had an art class, but what did that have to do with him? Since he'd come mid-year he didn't get to choose his classes and instead had been automatically signed up for all the basics of his grade plus a study-hall each day to fill the extra blocks. They especially didn't want him to take too many other classes because John had informed them that Sam would most likely be leaving in about a month anyway due to John's "job".

"Do you enjoy art?" she asked conversationally.

"Yeah," Sam said honestly. A pretty smile crossed her face, reaching all the way to her eyes.

"I'll see if I can't pull a few strings and get you into an art class, okay?"

"Thank you," he said. He grabbed the paper and slid it back into his bag before heading towards the door.

"Oh, and Sam?" She said. His hand froze on the knob. "I get the feeling you're a hard worker normally, so I'm going to let today's incidents slide. However, do try to pay attention in the future and arrive on time, please." Sam turned back to look at her, trying to read her face. She was smiling good-naturedly and gave him a small wink before sending him on his way.

Despite another lonely lunch, the rest of the day went by without incident.

As if in some type of foreshadowing of the events to come, it started raining as soon as Sam stepped outside the school doors.

Sam walked warily down the entryway to the school doors, looking every which way like a frightened animal. Like an animal being stalked. Like _prey. _Sam scoffed at the thought. Winchesters were hunters not the _hunted._ But no, not him, he was always the black sheep in the family.

Dean's shoes splashed in the already forming puddles as Sam walked down the street. He wanted to get home. Weird, he thought wryly, that was the second time he wanted to leave school. That had never happened before and now it'd happened twice in a row. Must be the town, he thought to himself. But in reality, it was no longer a reprieve of hunting he sought, it was a reprieve of Mike. And if a reprieve of Mike meant hunting then so be it.

The problem was, even if he managed to get home without incident there was still tomorrow and the day after that and so on for another three weeks.

"Hey," an eerie voice said from behind him. Sam cursed himself as he involuntarily jumped. Mike chuckled at his reaction before plastering a shit-eating grin on his face. All of sudden Mike reached forward and shoved Sam backwards. Sam hadn't been expecting the sudden move and tried to stay upright as the old sneakers slipped on the rain soaked concrete.

"Go back where you came from, Loser, because you're freakiness sure isn't tolerated here." Another shove. Sam reigned in all the self-control he owned. He wasn't going to fight them yet.

"Thanks for the tip," he said icily before spinning on his heel and stalked towards his current residence. He knew rule number one was never turn your back on your enemies, but frankly, he was hoping he'd catch them off guard with his defiance and maybe they'd just let him go today. But perhaps that was a bit naïve of him.

This time the shove from behind did send him sprawling to the ground, backpack rolling into the damp grass. He barely managed to get his hands out in time to catch himself. The small stones on the ground dug into his hands painfully, but he ignored it. He had bigger problems, after all.

A swift kick was delivered to his stomach, effectively flipping him on to his back. He fell back onto the wet ground.

"Hey, Mikey, check out his kicks." All eyes, including Sam's own, slid down to look at Sam's sneakers. Personally, he didn't see what it was about the ratty shoes that had caught their attention. Whatever it was, apparently it had given Mike an idea as a creepy smile spread across his face.

"Take 'em," he said simply. What on Earth would they want with his sneakers? Suddenly there were two hands on his shoulders pinning him down and two latched onto his legs to hold him down.

Sam wasn't going down without a fight.

He took a few swings at random and started kicking out. He was rewarded when his foot connected with something solid and someone let slip a string of curses that would put even John Winchester to shame. In retaliation, someone decked in the stomach. Hard. Sam instinctively tried to curl in on himself, but the hands on his shoulders held firm. His shoes were ripped off his feet and his toes curled slightly as they were exposed to the wind and rain through the thin socks.

"Please, they're not mine. I'm just borrowing them," Sam said rather desperately. He didn't need Dean on him _again. _

"Well, so are we. We're just…borrowing without permission, is all." Sam watched the faces above him as the one on Mike's left tied the shoe laces together. Now what were they doing? Mike snatched them and in one swift movement, tossed them up to the electrical wire going across the street with impeccable aim. The sneakers looped around so the laces were hanging over the wire with the sneakers on each side, balancing each other out. What exactly they gained from doing this, Sam didn't know, but the point was that he was now, once again, shoe-less. Plus, now it was Dean's shoes that'd he'd lost.

"Have fun walking home," Mike said before turning and leaving, his cronies following behind like puppies. But these puppies were more like wolves…sick, mean wolves.

Sam pushed himself off of the street, wincing slightly as the pain in his stomach became known. Between pain, stress and anxiety, it was a wonder Sam didn't lose his lunch right there. Once he righted himself, he looked down at his clothing. He looked like some homeless hood of the rough city streets with his dirty, soaked clothes and bare sock feet.

Sam scooped up his dripping backpack from where it'd fallen when he was pushed over and began the long trek home.

TBC…

**P.S. for some reason we have a lot of sneakers hanging from wires and such around where I live so that's where that inspiration came from. **

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><p><strong>Review Replies: <strong>I'm actually having a lot of fun doing these, so as long as no one has any objections, I think I'll continue throughout the story.

**judyann: **I agree with you, don't like don't read. Simple as that. I like Teenchesters the best, they're just more fun for me. Thanks for reviewing (as you always do)!

**supernaturalrenegade: **Well, Ms. Lucifer, glad you enjoyed it! And unfortunately for Sam, it's only gonna get harder. I guess all of us hurt Sam people are just sadists, lol! More soon, I promise! P.S. got the book :)

**Cartoon Cow: **OMG, you had me laughing like crazy. Don't forget the dog, he'll come back ;)

**1axdzy3dgftw1xLSNx3df1xMGG: **That's okay, Matthew is just so ridiculously lovable! And a crazy good actor (like he's so nerdy in Criminal Minds but he also plays other rolls really well). Do the other letters in your penname stand for something? MGG was the only one I recognized. I know, Mike's a total dick right? Yeah it's unfortunate how often that happens, even in real life. Hmm, you know, I almost forgot to add that part into the story. If you have any ideas about how revenge should be executed on them, send me a PM or something because I completely forgot (hence the change in the number of chapters at the top)

**primadonna cat: **Yeah, not really a huge John fan myself. I think he needs a bit of a wake up call in how he raised his children (children not soldiers). Anyway, thanks for reviewing!

**Punkin09: **I will try to make sure it's epic ;) I'm totally a sucker for hurt Sam as well. Especially in teenchester! Parakeet's review was certainly something, huh? Originally it got me really down but supernaturalrenegade cheered me up substantially. I promise more updates soon, thanks for reviewing!

**Arikae: **It's kind of funny because in most movies and the stuff, the character thinks their life is too normal and too boring, but Sammy here strives for normal (with good reason) I'm a totally sucker for brotherly (or sisterly as the situation may be) relationships. Thanks for reviewing!

**Lilithakaducky: **Yeah, that's Sam for you. Always hiding stuff, no matter how much it bothers him. No, thank _you_ for reading and reviewing!

**MysteryMadchen: **I'm so glad you picked up on that. So far you're the only one who commented about the shoes. And yes you were correct, Sam's shoes were also "uplifted". And Dean is not going to be very happy, I promise you that. Greater limpage, but before limpage will come much much more angst. Thanks for reviewing!

**rozzy07, caz21, Sparkiebunny, LeighAnnWallace, cursedgirl: **Thank you all for your reviews and I promise more updates soon!


	4. A New Lonely

**Here's the next chapter, right on time no less! A few people pointed out that the shoes on telephone wires actually have to do with drugs, so I apologize for that mistake. My friend told me a while ago that someone had stolen her shoes while she was walking home so I just assumed. I would correct it but I need them to stay there, so sorry if that isn't true to RL. **

**On that note, many of you were curious as to Dean's reaction to the shoes. Drop me a review and tell me what you think (I do so love reviews)**

**Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Warnings: See chapter 1<br>Disclaimer: See chapter 1  
>Word Count: 2,110<br>Chapter: 4/21  
>Next Update: Friday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 4: A New Lonely**

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><p>The water danced of Sam's shoulders as he stood under the warm spray of the shower. Another upside of having a real house was the hot water. There was far more hot water there than in any motel.<p>

Sam was exhausted and achy and, at that moment, wanted nothing more than to lie down and take a long nap. But that'd draw the unwanted attention of Dean and John, which was not something Sam needed. Besides, it was only Wednesday, Sam still had two whole days to make it through before the weekend came.

After stumbling out of the shower, Sam pulled on some comfy PJs and headed into the kitchen to start on his homework.

It wasn't very long before Dean came home, already looking steamed over something or other. He stormed over to the fridge, grabbed a beer and leaned up against the counter.

"Nice to see you too," Sam said lightly without looking up. Even though Sam himself wasn't in a great mood, he didn't want to get into another fight, especially since it would most likely last longer than the last one.

Dean snorted before taking a long swig of the amber liquid. The lack of witty retort caught Sam's attention and he looked up.

"Planning on bolting or something?" Sam joked as he realized Dean was still wearing his jacket and shoes.

But Dean only scowled. Apparently, tonight was just not a night for humor.

"I just meant that you were still wearing your jacket and shoes," Sam clarified quickly. Dean immediately looked down, apparently unaware of his own clothing. He made some sort of grunt noise before making his way back over to the front door. Off went the jacket and Dean slung it on the small rack there. He kicked his shoes off then paused, staring at the floor like it was some mysterious puzzle.

"Where are my shoes?" Dean asked. For a second, Sam was worried Dean was either seriously stoned or had received some type of brain damage between now and that morning when Sam had last seen him.

"What are you talking about? They're right…" Sam trailed off as he realized his mistake. Dean wasn't talking about the shoes he was wearing. He was talking about the ones Sam had been wearing. Damn. Sam was planning on just avoiding the topic and hoping Dean would forget that Sam had borrowed them and it wouldn't come up for a few months until Dean realized they were gone. Then Sam could easily say they had accidently been left behind at one of their many stops. He wasn't prepared to handle this so soon. Sam mentally cursed himself for inadvertently starting the shoe conversation.

"Well?" Dean demanded. Sam suddenly became aware his mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it.

Sam mumbled something inaudibly before going back to his homework.

"What?" Dean snapped as he sat down across from Sam.

"I, um…lost them."

"What? How do you lose something on your feet?" Dean gawked.

"I don't know," Sam mumbled.

"What the hell, Sam? Dad is gonna be fucking pissed!"

"It's not like they fit anyway," Sam snapped back, getting defensive.

"Well, apparently they fit you good enough!" Dean growled. "They could have had sentimental value, Sam!"

"Sentimental value? Since when does anything have sentimental value to you?" Perhaps that wasn't a hundred percent true. The amulet hanging on Dean's neck could attest to that, but still they _were_ just ratty sneakers.

Sam suddenly realized that Dean didn't really care how John would react or that the sneakers themselves were lost. What he really cared about was the fact that Sam had apparently been so careless with something of Dean's. Even if it wasn't something really important to Dean, Sam _had _borrowed the shoes, then, as far as Dean knew, discarded them without much thought.

Sam tried to think of a retort, but was stopped short when the door opened again. John stepped in, wet from the rain. Sam wondered where he had been. Dean had the car since he'd driven Sam to school and himself to work, so John had walked to wherever it had been.

Without a word, John walked into his room and walked back out a few minutes later carrying a bag.

"Where you going?" Sam asked.

"A hunt in the next town over. I'll be back in a few days. Caleb's picking me up because he's working it with me so the impala can stay here." And without another word he left.

Sam was rather stung by the shortness of it. A few days? That could mean anything from two days to ten days. He used to be more specific, but now that Dean had a job, John didn't have to worry about leaving enough money, so therefore no longer had to keep to a stricter schedule. And the next town over? There weren't on the coast, for crying out loud. They were surrounded by towns. John had given them practically no information whatsoever. Not to mention the abruptness of it all.

Sam turned a disbelieving look to Dean to see if he was on the same page as Sam, but Dean just rolled his eyes and disappeared into his own room.

An unknown feeling rose up in Sam, but he stomped down on it and stormed back to his room. He had more homework to do anyway.

Feeling tired, he pulled out his biology homework. Having not paid attention, Sam couldn't answer almost any of the questions and his notes were useless. He stared at the small flower in the corner and mulled over the thought of art class. It certainly sounded like fun, as long as Dean didn't find out.

"I'm going out," Dean growled from the other side of the door. Footsteps sounded as he made his way back down the hall. Sam scrambled up from his bed and flung himself at the door, narrowly missing smacking his head on the wall.

"Wait!" he called as he stumbled out and down the hallway. "Wait!" He called again as he dashed into the kitchen, sliding slightly when his socks couldn't get grip on the tile.

"What?" Dean snapped.

"I just…where are you going?" Sam wasn't exactly sure what he'd come to do. Apologize? Argue more? Whatever it was, Sam was pretty sure it wasn't just to find out where Dean was going. Probably a bar.

"A date," Dean said simply before turning to leave.

"Wait!" Sam called, leaping forward to stop his brother.

"Now what?" Dean asked impatiently.

"Um…what time will you be back?" For a second Dean looked as though Sam had spontaneously grown another head.

"I don't know, whenever I decide to come back." Sam couldn't think of anything else to say so he let Dean leave without further interruption.

Even though he wasn't sure what he wanted to say, Sam silently cursed himself for not saying it.

The feeling from before rose up in Sam and this time he could identify it.

Loneliness.

A new, bone-crushing, soul-smothering loneliness. Sure he'd been home alone before, sometimes days at a time while John and Dean went on hunts. But this was…different somehow. It was a different feeling knowing John and Dean were both gone _and_ most likely mad at him; that both of them weren't likely in any kind of hurry to get back and have to deal with Sam. Hopefully whatever busty broad Dean had found for himself would be enough to help him calm down and forget the damn shoes.

After a dinner of cold pizza, Sam stretched out on the couch and watched something on the small TV. He couldn't draw at night. Drawing allowed his imagination to run wild and that wasn't something a hunter really wanted to allow while home alone at night.

A glance at the clock revealed it to be a little after eight. Dean wasn't back yet. Sam was confident that Dean most likely wouldn't be back until some un-Godly hour in the morning.

Sam dragged the blue throw off the back of the couch and covered himself up.

_It was cold, really cold, as Sam walked along the desolate street. The houses on the sides were all painted black and were quite decrypt. For some reason his footfalls echoes loudly like it was the only sound in the empty place. It wasn't raining but the street was wet with many overly-large puddles. _

_On his left, between two houses was the brown dog. It looked exactly the same as before, it's head even tilted the same way. It let out a small whimper._

"_Finish me," a voice chorused in Sam's ear. And just like that the dog disappeared._

"_Hey, New Kid!" The voice sounded weird, more powerful than usual, yet it seemed to be whispered right in his ear. Sam turned around while a strange fear pulsed through his veins. He could hear his heart-beat echoing loudly in his ear. _

_Mike was right in front of him, arm pulled back to strike. Sam couldn't move, it was like someone had glued him in his position. The punch came down hard across Sam's cheek. It split open and a few droplets of blood rained down into the puddle below, creating weird pink spots in the water. The next punch seemed to come with an unnatural force and Sam went over backwards, landing in a large puddle. _

_The noises were getting louder and louder in his ear. The dog, Mike, his own heart beat. Sam wanted to throw his hands up and cover his ears. A headache was creeping up from all the noise and now the added pain from the punches._

_Mike was above him, seeming far taller than actually possible. Suddenly Sam was sinking in the puddle like it was some great lake. Sam struggled to stay on the top but the water was wrapping around him, pulling him down. Mike laughed loudly as Sam began to slip under. _

_Finally Sam's eyes found the one person he wanted to see. Dean was kneeling on one side of the puddle-turned-lake. Relief crashed through Sam and he shot a hand out. He grabbed onto Dean's arm and pulled his head back above water. Dean's eyes seemed to flash with emotion for a moment. _

"_Don't be selfish!" He hissed before sliding his arm out of Sam's grasp. He stood up and started to walk away._

"_No! Dean! Come back! Help!" Sam's words drowned out as he slipped below the surface again. His muscles ached from trying to stay above and his chest felt like it was on fire. No matter how hard Sam kicked, the surface only got further away. The icy water surrounded him, dragging him to his grave._

_His vision was starting to cloud over…_

_His head started to throb…_

_Arms and legs burning…_

_Chest on fire…_

_No air…_

Sam yelped as he shot straight up on the couch. His breathing was ragged like he was still drowning and couldn't get enough air. It couldn't have been more than an hour or so because the same cheesy cartoon was still playing.

Realizing the house was empty and there was still no big brother there to comfort him, he once again was hit with just how alone he felt. As childish as it was, Sam wanted his brother, plain and simple.

Shakily, he got to his feet and flicked off the TV. Leaving the living room light on, Sam walked down the hall, still wrapped in the blue blanket.

He crawled into his small bed and stared at the ceiling for another two hours until Dean came home. Sam wanted nothing more than to go to his brother and apologize and spill his guts about everything, but he just couldn't. Not now, with the nightmare so fresh in his mind. He knew it was foolish, but in reality, Dean was the only person he couldn't handle rejection from.

Dean poked his head into Sam's room as he passed by on his way to bed. Sam closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. Dean, being Dean, would most likely not fall for it, but he would at least get the message and for now that might just be enough.

"Sam?" he called softly. _Don't say anything,_ Sam told himself. He couldn't, not now. Tomorrow, maybe, he'd go to his brother and apologize for the sneakers and Dean would apologize for snapping and everything would be good. But not now while he was still so vulnerable. The nightmare would bring up questions. Questions which Sam couldn't answer. He was far too tired to put up a front and lie about what it was about or dismiss it as not important.

Dean sighed softly before crossing the hall to his own room and softly shutting the door. Sam turned on his side and curled into a small ball.

He was still lonely.

TBC…

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><p><strong>Review Replies<strong>

**TinTin11: **I'm pretty sure you're not the only one whose mornings get crazy like that :) Whenever I see the shoes, I do the same thing wondering who and what and all that great stuff. Thanks for reviewing (as you always do :)

**Gord and V: **Well there's your answer to whether Sam will tell him and how Dean will react. Hopefully it lived up to your expectations. And, unfortunately for Sam, he won't be catching any breaks for quite a while because I'm just mean like that (and because it makes for a good Sam story) Thanks for reviewing!

**1xadzy3dgftw1xLSNx3dg1xMGG****:** Glad you feel strongly against Mike, that makes me happy. Thanks for sending me a PM with your revenge ideas, you certainly got me thinking. You'll just have to wait to find out more about the shoes but rest assured they'll come back up.

**Brielle-W: **Thanks for letting me know that about the shoes, I would go back and change it but it's important to the story, so try to see past that for now. Thanks for reviewing!

**supernaturalrenegade: **So now you know Dean's reaction. Did you like it? Poor Sammy just can't catch a break! I think everyone has those rushed mornings now and again. I actually knew they were called trainers in England (thanks to Harry Potter) so now I feel all proud of myself for knowing that. The book is awesome by the way.

**Cartoon Cow: **Well thank you for making me laugh and for sending Arikae over to this story. That was a nice little conversation between you and Sam (and sort of Dean). Thanks for R & R ing! P.S. for some reason I got your review twice…strange.

**judyann: **What'd you think of Dean's reaction? Did it live up to your expectations? The scene between the teacher and Sam about art is one of my favorites for some reason, so I'm glad you liked it as well.

**jayfeather63: **Don't worry about not reviewing, I know how easy it is to get distracted and forget to do it. Hm, I haven't seen any shirts, wonder what that's about.

**Onthis: **Thanks for letting me know about the drugs and thanks for reviewing!

**casammy: **Dean is most certainly not going to be happy, I can tell you that much. Is that quote from the Benders? That's the only one I can think of but I could be wrong. Thanks for reviewing!

**MysteryMadchen: **Very interesting guesses, a few of them are very close, but you'll just have to wait to see which ones. Also, there won't be any suicide in this story, though that is a good idea for another story…hmm… Anyway, thanks for your review, it's always fun to see what the readers think will happen then see their reaction to what actually happened (though you're not far off in a few cases).

**Sparkiebunny, lizzieten, caz21: **Thanks for reviewing and I hoped you liked this chapter just as much!


	5. All The Woe

**My head is killing me so I don't have anything to say other than thanks to all of you awesome readers and please REVIEW (they make me feel better)**

**Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Warnings: See chapter 1<br>Disclaimer: See chapter 1  
>Word Count: 2300<br>Chapter: 5/21  
>Next Update: Hopefully Sunday, but maybe Monday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 5: All The Woe**

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><p>"Sam! Sam!" someone shouted.<p>

"Mmm, what?" Sam asked blearily. "Dean, stop shaking me, 'm awake already," Sam said while he tried to get his sleepy eyes to focus on Dean.

"If you're awake, then get up," Dean said.

"Wha-?" Sam asked, still not knowing what was going on.

"The alarms, Sam! You forgot to set them! You're just lucky I woke up in time," Dean snapped. Sam, not knowing what to say, sat up slowly, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Sorry, Dean, I fell asleep on the couch last night and didn't think about it when I came to bed later," Sam said apologetically. Dean wasn't buying it.

"I don't really care how it happened, Sam, just don't let it happen again," Dean sighed before exiting. Sam turned and slowly began to dress. Was it really impossible for Dean and him to get along? It seemed that since arriving at the new town, they'd done nothing but go at each other's throats.

"Hurry it up, Sam!" Dean shouted from the kitchen. Sam double-timed it down the hallway and into the kitchen where Dean was standing, tapping his foot impatiently.

Sam cast a wary eye over at his shoes. They had holes along the side and the bottom was so worn it provided no comfort at all. But if he wanted to avoid another round of questioning about Dean's shoes, he'd have to suck it up, so on they went.

The ride to school was absolutely silent. Not a word from either brother, neither knowing who should start. Who had more to apologize for? Sam, probably, but still, Dean had overacted just a bit to the shoes and that morning. After all, it _was_ a mistake. He hadn't intentionally not set the alarm. And Sam was going to be just as late to school as Dean was to work.

The black car pulled up outside the school entrance, thankfully not late. As Sam stepped out of the car, he cast a wary eye up to the gloomy looking sky. It looked like rain. Sam really didn't want to walk home in the rain again.

"Um, Dean?" Sam asked tentatively before Dean had a chance to pull from the curb.

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind giving me a ride home?" Sam's eyes flicked up the gloomy sky to show his reasoning. Dean was mad, true, but first and foremost, he was Sam's big brother. So, when Sam pulled out the puppy-dog eyes, he caved exactly as Sam had hoped.

"Sure, but I'll have to work a bit late afterwards," Dean replied, before pulling away.

"Thanks," Sam said, even though Dean was gone. Dean was saving Sam from more than he knew.

Sam hurried down the hall. If he was fast enough, he'd make it.

Suddenly a huge hand came down on his shoulder and forcefully spun him around, nearly knocking him over.

"Hey," Mike said, grinning sadistically.

"What do you want?" Sam couldn't help but ask exasperatedly. What was it about him that made him such a fun target to these damn people?

Sam was pretty sure he was about to get a fist sandwich.

Out of nowhere, a teacher suddenly called "Let's be getting to class, boys!" Mike and his idiot crew of two were forced, under the strict gaze of a teacher, to leave and head to their own class. Sam thanked whoever was apparently looking out for him today.

Sam barely made it into the classroom before the bell rang, earning a raised eyebrow from Mr. Newman.

"Alright, every one hand me your homework," Mr. Newman said. He started going up and down the aisles taking papers from students.

Sam grabbed his History binder and flipped to the homework section.

_Oh, crap._

It was sitting on the floor in his room. After Dean left last night, Sam had been antsy and eager to crank the TV up and fill the silent house with noise. In his haste, the paper had fallen to the ground. He'd told himself he'd grab it in the morning, but he'd been in such a hurry he hadn't thought about it.

Sam mentally berated himself as Mr. Newman came up to him.

"Paper?" he asked when Sam didn't immediately produce the document.

"I left it at home," Sam said quietly. "I can bring it to you tomorrow," he added hopefully.

"Sorry, Sam, but in my class it's on time or never. I don't accept any late documents." And just like that he moved on to the next person. Sam wanted to leap to his feet and curse the stupid man enough to make wallpaper curl.

Instead, he jerked his head back down and dug his nails into his palm painfully.

If he'd just set the stupid alarms none of this would have happened. But then, Sam reminded himself, if he was going to blame the alarm, or lack of, then he could keep going back. He could blame Dean for leaving him and making him forget. Or he could blame John for leaving so sudden and pissing them both off further. Or he could go all the way back and blame Mike for taking the goddamn shoes. But in truth, it was just a mistake. He had forgotten to grab the paper, nothing more. He'd been careless to leave it there, but that's just how things were.

As Sam was leaving lunch, yet another one spent alone, a voice called behind him.

"Sam!" He turned to see Mrs. Chambers jogging to catch up to him.

"Hi," Sam said simply as she arrived next to him.

"Here," she said handing him a piece of paper. "Mrs. Prince has agreed to take you into her art class."

"That was fast," Sam couldn't help but say. She smiled at his bluntness.

"Yes, well, you know," she said with a shrug. "Anyway, you have it tomorrow instead of study hall. That's," she tapped the paper, "the room number and times."

"Okay," Sam said somewhat stupidly. She turned and started to leave just as Sam came to his senses.

"Thank you!" he called after her. She flashed him a quick grin before continuing down the hall.

The rest of the daze passed in a bit of a blur for Sam. His mood kept switching. One minute he was pissed about the stupid homework and the circumstances leading up to it and the next minute he was excited for the art class.

In his second to last class it started raining hard. Sam was once again grateful for the ride. He really didn't need another day of walking home in the pouring rain. His shoes were still drying from their first day of a watery walk home, too many more and they'd fall to pieces.

Occasionally, in his last two classes, while looking out at the rain, Sam would think back to his dream. And sometimes, for the briefest moments, he'd feel it. The burning in his chest, the fuzziness in his brain. It was like he was drowning all over again. Then, for some strange reason, his thoughts would drift to the dog. He could still picture it perfectly in his mind, and he'd wonder where it was right now. Was the poor creature out in the rain? Was it even raining back in that town? Was he sitting in front of some warm fire watching the other animals outside in the rain and thinking _suckers! _

And then Dean. Where was he? Was he looking out into the rain, same as Sam, and thinking that he was glad he was giving his kid-brother a ride home? Or was he still pissed about the damn shoes? Had he already moved past that? Was he wondering when things had got so shitty between the two brothers? Sam sure as hell was.

The school bell rang and Sam was once again happy to leave. Maybe it's the town, Sam thought wryly as he once again realized how common it was becoming for him to want to leave.

Amongst the flood of students eager to leave, Sam walked down the entrance of the school. Only this time he went to the pick-up part instead of heading down the side walk. He watched the few unfortunate people who did have to walk home. A few of them used books to shield themselves while others just picked up their pace.

As he made his way down the line of cars, his foot splashed in a particularly large puddle. Images flashed before his brain. Mike laughing, Dean letting go, the water blurring his visions. His lungs felt like they were on fire again and he was struggling for breath.

A car horn managed to snap Sam out of his temporary panic attack. He got a strange look from the nearest kid and Sam attempted to slow his breathing. I'm okay, he assured himself. I'm on dry land and I'm not drowning. Over and over his whispered it to himself.

After going up and down the line of cars twice, Sam suddenly realized something.

Dean wasn't there.

But he'd be there, he was just running late, Sam told himself.

But ten minutes later, Dean still wasn't there.

Sam viciously wished he had a cell phone, but for Winchesters, that privilege wasn't given until one turned sixteen due to the costliness of a cell phone.

Had Dean actually _forgotten_ him? Had it not been important enough to Dean to take the effort to make a note, mental or otherwise, to remember to pick him up?

_He let go._

Sam remembered Dean letting him go in his dream. How Dean had so carelessly let him slip below the surface like he'd never meant anything?

Was he still mad about something and decided to stand Sam up? But, no…he'd agreed this morning. Dean may like to play cruel pranks on his brother, but Dean wouldn't do something like that. Safety was not taken lightly by the Winchesters and if someone didn't show within fifteen minutes of said time, it was time to start worrying. Because Sam and Dean had been raised military style. Always be on time. Being late only caused needless worry and delay. And Dean _knew_ Sam would freak out for Dean's safety and his own if Dean didn't show after agreeing to meet him.

So either Dean was hurt or he really had forgotten.

Sam couldn't decide which seemed worse.

Feeling incredibly dejected, he walked slowly from the pick-up line over to the sidewalk to start the trek home.

The rain no longer seemed important and Sam didn't hurry to escape it. The cold didn't affect him as usual and only served to further push his gloomy mood.

But then, what if Dean really was hurt? What if he'd been in a car accident? What if he was lying somewhere, bleeding out and dying? What if he was lying there thinking about how he was supposed to pick Sam up from school and how Sam would think he'd forgotten his little brother? Sam had no doubt that it would cross Dean's mind. Even in his final moments, Dean's thoughts would be solely on his little brother.

Now feeling more panicked than upset, Sam sped up. As soon as he got back, he'd call Dean at work and check he was there.

When the house finally did come into view, Sam began to full out sprint. It didn't even occur to him that he'd been left alone by Mike and his gang for once.

Sam practically ripped the door off its hinges in his haste. He ran into the kitchen, footprints be damned, and yanked the phone of the wall. He snatched the business card of the garage where Dean worked off the fridge and punched in the number. While he waited anxiously he twisted his hands in the curly phone cord.

"Rocco's Mechanics," a dull, bored voice answered.

"Hi, can I speak to Dean…" Sam wracked his brain for a minute, "Miller! Dean Miller!"

"Can I ask why?" he sounded slightly more interest. Perhaps Sam's panicked tone made him curious.

"I'm his brother, I need to speak with him right now!"

"Is it an emergency?" What was this guy's problem? Did he want to ask what Sam wanted for Christmas as well?

"No, yes, I don't know! Can you please just put him through?"

"Sure, one sec." Sam visibly relaxed with relief. Dean was there. He wasn't lying somewhere breathing his final breaths. Then he was filled up with anger and betrayal.

Dean _had _forgotten!

"Hello?" Dean asked casually. It was strange to think Dean was relaxed at work while Sam was worrying out of his mind that his older brother might be dead.

Sam was half tempted just to hang up right there. Make Dean worry and see how he liked it.

"Dean?"

"Sam? You need something?" there was a bit of confusion in his voice as well as a hint of worry.

"Why didn't you pick me up?"

There was silence on the other end.

So Dean hadn't even realized he'd forgotten something. Even talking to Sam hadn't been enough to remind him. Sam had to practically spell it out for him.

"Oh, crap. I'm so sorry, Sam-" it sounded genuine, but for some reason Sam was only filled with more anger.

"Forget it, its fine," Sam said curtly before hanging up. He looked around stupidly like he'd never seen the place before. Finally snapping out of his daze, he stumbled into his room.

There on the floor, the History paper sat innocently. Sam slowly picked it up and stared at his own handwriting discussing the causes of the French Revolution.

Sam ripped the piece of paper to shreds.

TBC…

**Review Replies:** Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed!

**LeighAnnWallace: **Well, you're definitely right in saying it's only going to get worse. But, I suppose that's Sam for you (at least in my story!)

**TinTin11: **As much as I dislike when the brother's fight, I enjoyed writing that Dean scene immensely. The nightmare was actually just a last minute thing…it just seemed to make sense there.

**supernaturalrenegade: **Poor Sammy, stuck like that. But then again, being the Sam Sadist that I am, what do I love more than to stick Sam between a rock and a hard place? (Just occurred to me – is that an American saying only?) I've never heard of shoe wishes like that – that's so cool!

**Brielle-W: **No offense taken, I personally love random tidbits like that and have no doubt that one someone will wonder why there are shoes on wires and I'll be all knowledgeable and stuff :)

**jayfeather63: **You're right in thinking the bullying will increase, but that comes in the next chapter, so you'll have to wait a bit longer. John and Dean will find out but it may not be for quite a while. I plan on causing Sam much more misery before we come to that ;)

**1xadzy3dgftw1xLSNx3dg1xMGG: **I completely agree, loneliness is just so awful. Any other emotion you can get over with someone else's help, but not that one. Unfortunately for Sammy, he didn't get his Dean in this chapter either.

**Cartoon Cow: **I guess it was a supernatural occurrence! I wonder if there's a mysterious review monster out there trying to confuse us all! Oprah huh? Let me know when's his first show is ;)

**Lilithakaducky: **Woo! Glad you liked Dean's reaction! I actually based Sam's shoes off my old pair of Converse, they're absolutely falling apart (then when I walk home snow comes in the holes :)

**judyann: **Well I bet this chapter didn't improve your feelings towards Dean any did it? Dean's just not being the big brother Sam needs at the moment. Tsk tsk. Anyway, let me know what you think of Dean now ;)

**OutTonightAndForever: **It's funny how different teenchester stories can be portrayed. Glad you liked John, I was worried I might be overdoing him a bit. I know what episode you're talking about but for the life of me I can't remember what it's called either. The idea of Sam being able to draw is an idea that's been sticking with me for a while and I haven't found anything else that had that so I was quite happy to finally have a story I could fit it in. I was actually kind of basing Dean's short temper of his actions towards the beginning of the second season. This is a much longer review than I normally get, but so thanks for that and taking the time to discuss specific elements.

**Sparkiebunny: **I know, that's one of my favorite lines too. It's one of those sweet moments where you write a line and then you're just blown away that you wrote something that sounds so good!


	6. All That I'm Living For

**First off, sorry this wasn't up yesterday, but I live on the East coast of the US where Tropical Storm/Hurricane (I heard it called both so now I'm not sure which it technically was) Irene hit. We had some minor flooding and multiple power outs so the post is today instead.**

**I have to go back to school starting this afternoon so I'm kinda bummed. But nothing cheers me up like a review, so please, if you will! On that note, I should be able to post Wednesday, but it'll be later at night (or morning for some of you I suppose depending on where you are) because of school.**

**Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Warnings: See chapter 1<br>Disclaimer: See chapter 1  
>Word Count: 2200<br>Chapter: 6/21  
>Next Update: Wednesday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 6: All That I'm Living For**

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><p>After spending a good half hour crying in the shower, Sam had pulled himself together and started on his homework.<p>

Just as he was finishing, the door opened and Dean stepped in. Sam continued on his geometry homework without looking up.

He hadn't decided how he felt towards Dean at the moment. Angry and quite betrayed, obviously. But he was also relieved that Dean was safe and was starting to understand and forgive Dean for forgetting. It happened to everyone. Perhaps it was a tad bit careless to not put more effort into remembering something like that, but it happened. He was just blowing it out of proportion.

"Sam?" Dean asked quietly.

"Yes?" Sam replied tersely without looking up.

"I'm sorry-" Dean started, but Sam cut him off.

"It's fine," he said curtly. His tone suggested it most certainly was not fine, but at the same time had a note of finality in it.

Sam knew Dean wasn't finished, but he wasn't yet ready to listen. He shut his geometry book forcefully and walked into the living room. He turned off the TV and flopped down on the couch, effectively ending their conversation. He heard Dean sigh before going to shower to wash away the sweat and grease of a hard day at the garage.

Sam briefly wondered if Dean ever cried in the shower.

Late that night, around ten, there was a soft knock on Sam's bedroom door.

"Sammy? You up?" Dean asked softly. Sam knew what was coming. For the entire evening, Sam had intentionally avoided Dean, trying to sort out his own feelings before sorting out Dean's. But now, Dean all but had him cornered. There was no excuse Sam could make to leave the room and nothing he could do to busy himself.

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. No point in lying, Dean would know he was faking sleep anyway.

Dean came in, softly shutting the door behind him, and sat down on the end of Sam's bed. Even though it was night, the alarm clock on Sam's bedside table gave out a blue light in its immediate vicinity. It casted an eerie pale blue glow over Dean's face and probably created strange shadows on Sam's since he was facing away from it.

"Sammy, I'm sorry, I really am. It just slipped my mind. I was having a busy day and it just…"

"I know," Sam replied quietly.

"I should have left myself a note or something-"

"Yeah," Sam said bluntly, still not looking Dean in the eye.

"Sam, you…I…you're my little brother and…" Dean wasn't really making any sense, but Sam still understood. They always understood each other, even when words failed.

"I know." And he did. He got it. It was sort of like saying 'don't take it personally' though that sounded weird in the current situation. Basically, Sam hadn't slipped Dean's mind because he was less important or anything, it'd just been a rough day. And Sam still meant the world to Dean and Dean still meant to world to Sam. It was over and forgiven.

Dean smiled, apparently understanding Sam's small words just as much as Sam understood Dean's babbling.

"I'm sorry I lost your shoes," Sam added quietly.

Dean smirked. "Didn't fit anyway." Sam was half tempted to spill his guts to Dean about everything, but he refrained. He was still adamant about handling the bullies himself.

"Do you want me to stay?" Dean asked, but he fooled neither of them. He was really saying he wanted to stay, but was too manly to admit it, so settled on pretending it was Sam who really wanted him there. Not that Sam minded in the slightest.

"Sure," Sam said, smiling slightly and finally meeting Dean's eyes. Dean laid down next to him and stretched his arm around Sam's shoulders, pulling him close.

"It's you and me against the world, kid."

"Sam!" Mrs. Prince called as Sam was about to exit the art classroom. It was a large classroom with bright walls each colored differently. Student artwork was on the walls and hang from the ceiling. There were tables around the room, each seating four tables. For once, Sam was glad he was the new kid to the class because, in classes where there wasn't assigned seating, he would end up sitting alone if he'd picked his seat when everyone else had. But being last to enter, he could only take the last available seat.

"Yes?" he asked, turning back.

"This may have only been your first art class here, but I certainly get the feeling you really like to draw," she said gesturing to Sam's math folder which was covered in doodles. It didn't surprise him she'd noticed as he was the only one who didn't seem to think the class was a joke. And he was the only one with any semblance of talent.

"Yea, ma'am," Sam said with a small smile.

Ever since Dean had talked to him last night, Sam was feeling much better. It was nice to finally have someone in his corner.

"Well," she reached into her own tote bag and pulled out a bright orange flyer which she handed to Sam. "there's an art show on the 25th here at the high school if you're interested. Students from any school in the school district are allowed to contribute art. It can be any medium you want. There are a few requirements which can all be found on the flyer. The theme is Best Memories so you have to somehow represent your best memory. I really hope you can make it!" She said cheerfully.

Sam plastered on a smile and thanked her when what he really wanted to do was cry. The 25th? If all went according to plan, the Winchesteres would be leaving town on the 24th – the full moon being the night of the 23rd. And an art show wasn't exactly something John would stick around for. Not to mention Sam would have to reveal his secret hobby to them.

Sam almost snorted as he realized something. Sam was a bullied artist who didn't like hunting and loved school. Wasn't he just the picture perfect Winchester?

Sam went to deposit the flyer in the first recycling bin he saw, not wanting to be reminded of what he was going to miss, but stopped himself. Maybe something would go wrong on the hunt and they'd have to stay longer. Or maybe there was another hunt nearby and Dean and Sam would be allowed to stay. Then he could simply make up some excuse about a school fundraiser or what not and come to the art show. It _was_ only one day, so it wasn't like he was asking for a miracle or anything.

Instead of recycling the orange paper, he slipped it into his math folder and made a mental note to put it in the front of his sketchpad.

For once it wasn't raining as Sam walked home. It wasn't exactly sunny and it did look like it could pour at any second, but at that moment, it was fine.

As Sam walked, he thought back to the flyer. Best Memory? What was Sam's best memory? Sure there were many 'chick-flick moments' between Sam and Dean that were good, but none of them seemed like the best. He could draw the amulet, but that was more than just a good memory. That was also the sadness that John had missed another Christmas and the resignation of Sam finally deciding that John would never really be there; that it would always just be Dean and him.

"_It's you and me against the world, Kid." _Dean's words echoed over and over in his head. All the best memories had probably happened while his mom had been alive. But he didn't remember any of that. A wave of depression crashed over Sam. Whenever he thought about it, he couldn't help but feel that maybe it was his fault Mary had died. After all, she was murdered shortly after _his_ birth in _his_ nursery. It was just too much to be a coincidence. If it wasn't for him, Mary would still be living and Dean would have both his parents and John would have the love of his life. They'd have so many good memories they wouldn't be able to decide which was the best.

As he turned onto a small side street, Sam was pulled from his quickly spiraling thoughts by the sight of his least favorite person.

Mike.

What was he supposed to do? They were ahead of him. He'd have to essentially walk right into them or turn back and seem a coward.

Sam straightened his back and walked with purpose up to them.

"Do you need something?" he asked curtly, looking up to meet Mike's steely grey eyes. They were completely blocking his path.

"I need a couple bucks," he said casually.

Money? Sam almost laughed. It was so clichéd – the bully stealing lunch money from younger and smaller kids.

"Sorry, I'm fresh out." It was a lie. Dean always insisted that he had some money on him just in case something went wrong. You never know when you might need a few dollars to get yourself out of a tight jam.

"Well, I don't believe you," Mike said while taking a step closer. The other two goons both took a step closer like they were dogs on a leash.

It wasn't until the guy on the left cracked his knuckles did Sam come to the realization that he'd have to fight. No way in hell was he handing over money. And if he wanted to at least have a chance at gaining the upper hand, he'd have to try to get it down to two very quickly.

In a one quick movement, Sam dropped his bag to the ground and delivered a painful punch to Mike's stomach. He doubled over slightly and before the other two could reach him, Sam threw a punch to the side of Mike's face, successfully splitting his cheek open. Mike dropped to the ground for a second, letting the other two take over.

The one on the left, whom Sam had dubbed Blondie due to his blonde hair, lunged for him. Sam dodged his punch and threw one of his own which was also dodged. Stubble – so named because of the dark stubble along his chin – jumped into the fray.

But there was a difference in how they fought. They fought in full offense, with the intention of degrading and preying upon someone they deemed weaker. But Sam fought only in defense, without the intention of causing pain.

Stubble and Blondie both grabbed onto one of his arms and yanked them behind his back. Mike picked himself up and dusted himself off.

"Well that was stupid of you," he said as he approached Sam. Out of nowhere he delivered two strong punches to Sam's gut causing him to bend over slightly. A hand wrapped itself tightly in his hair and yanked Sam's head back. "Listen here, we don't like to be messed with and those who do, pay, understood?" he hissed.

Sam stomped as hard as he could on Stubble's foot. When his arm was instantly released, he yanked it forward, hitting Mike again. Someone, most likely Blondie, threw a punch at his face. It hit Sam on the side of his nose, thankfully not breaking it. It did however throw him off balance. Aided by another punch to the gut, Sam went down. Sam's wrist gave a fierce throb as he landed on it. It didn't seem broken, but it certainly hurt.

A foot shot out of nowhere and crashed into his stomach.

Sam was pretty sure he heard a rib snap.

Another foot shot out and connected with Sam's rib cage, though this time it didn't seem to break anything.

Suddenly there were sirens sounding and lights flashing. Two police cars were coming, maybe not for them, but one of them would most likely stop if whoever it was saw three teens beating the shit out of someone.

"Aw, shit man, let's get out of here!" Stubble yelled.

Sam thanked his lucky stars as they tore off down the street.

Instead of getting up and starting the long, now painful, walk home, he just slid over onto the grassy side of the sidewalk and flopped down. He lay there, arms and legs spread out to the sides, and just stared at up the stormy sky.

He felt rather lucky, considering. He had gotten a few good punches in on Mike and as for his own injuries, they weren't nearly as bad as they could have been. A sprained wrist maybe, as well as one cracked rib. His nose was hurting and there'd no doubt be a bruise there soon. Sam was also pretty sure he could feel some blood trickling out of it, but he didn't really care right then.

A few small drops of crystal clear water fell from the sky and landed on Sam's face.

Great, now it was raining too.

TBC…

**Review Replies**

**supernaturalrenegade: **I know what you mean about your mind playing tricks on you. It's like when you're having a bad day and then everything, no matter how small, seems like something horrible. I'm all good now – thanks for asking.

**1xadzy3dgftw1xLSNx3dg1xMGG: **I know! I hate teachers like that who take advantage of the power they have. What did you think of Dean's apology? Dean will eventually come to his senses and get back to the big brother we all love so dearly. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately for us Limp Sam people) he might not realize something's wrong until Sam has suffered more. Speaking of the stick figure in Bedtime Stories and the tree you mentioned – that's why I decided that Sam could only draw from memory or sight, not just conjuring up something from imagination. Lucky for Sam Mike and his goons aren't in art class, but I can't say that he escaped trouble on that front.

**Sparkiebunny: **I'm guess I'm just good at writing teenage Sam angst because it's one of my favorites :) Personally I think it's easy to write because a lot of teenagers can identify with it on some level, but there's also the added elements of being a hunter to keep it interesting. But now Sammy's got someone in his corner (at least for now ;)

**Gord and V: **Glad you enjoyed the dreams, I'm never sure about them. You're right in thinking that you'll just have to wait and see!

**judyann:** Did Dean's apology live up to what you were expecting? Nope, Sam never has it easy when we fangirls get a hand on him and it's only gonna get worse. ;)

**casammy: **that's just the awesomeness between Sam and Dean I suppose. They both have faith in each other to always be there to watch their back even if they're not getting along. Dean really is everything to Sam, father and brother. Like you said, I'm trying to sink Sam into his own little hole of insecurity. Evil? Maybe but that's just what this story's about. Thanks for the review (especially such a wonderful and long one!)

**winchestersunited: **Woo! In character! The greatest achievement a fanfic writer can accomplish! Teen Sam is easy to understand because all teenagers identify with his problems but it's still an interesting read because of the added elements of hunting and such. I agree completely, a lot of people seem to think Sam had it so easy because of Dean, but I don't think that's how it was at all. Thanks for such an insightful review!

**LeighAnnWallace, caz21, Colby's girl, primadonna cat **(glad you though it made sense in the circumstance) **sarah: **thanks for reviewing, I adore them all, short or long!


	7. Epistaxis

**I'm off to school, which is why this update is so early in the morning (at least here it is) so leave me lots of reviews to look forward to when I get back! Seriously though, you guys are awesome!**

**Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Warnings: See chapter 1<br>Disclaimer: See chapter 1  
>Word Count: 2300<br>Chapter: 7/21  
>Next Update: Friday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 7: Epistaxis***

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><p>Even though Sam hurt badly, lying on the grass in the rain wouldn't solve anything. He needed to get back, especially before Dean got home.<p>

Slowly he pushed himself up into a sitting position. A spark of pain flared in his chest causing him to groan.

"Get up," he told himself firmly in his John Winchester voice. Using every ounce of will power he had, he got to his feet.

He stumbled forward for the first few steps but eventually managed to get one foot in front of the other properly.,the thought of rest on a soft bed the only thing keeping him going.

So many emotions ran through Sam that he was having trouble keeping them all straight. He was angry at Mike above all else, but also pissed at himself for letting Mike get the upper hand in the fight. John Winchester would hang his head in shame if he ever found out his own son hadn't been able to hold his own in a fight against humans. And Dean…Dean…What _would_ Dean think? Would he be ashamed? Or just happy Sam managed to get a few hits in of his own and came out relatively safe? Maybe he'd be torn. Maybe his protective instinct would be warring with the hunting soldier side of him. He'd no doubt want to tear Mike's head off, that was for sure.

Sam nearly cried out in joy when the house finally came into view. The hill, however small, had been bad and hard to climb. Sam nearly had to resort to crawling to make it all the way there.

After depositing his bag in a heap by the door, he made his way towards the hall way. His eyes flickered over to the comfortable looking couch. He didn't have any injuries that were life threatening, so maybe it wouldn't hurt if he took a quick little nap before doing first aid…besides, he was _so_ tired. And not just average tired, bone weary exhaustion that seemed to seep from every inch of his body.

Sam changed his course mid way and headed for the couch. It wasn't like it was really _that_ bad, mostly just bruising and maybe a cracked rib as well as a sprained wrist. Nothing that would kill him in his sleep. He just had to make sure to be awake before Dean got home, just so he had a little time to straighten up and didn't look like he decided to nap in the mud on the way home.

Slowly, Sam lowered his aching body down onto the old blue couch that never looked more comfortable. His eyes drifted closed almost instantly, promising himself only a few minutes, no more...

"Holy shit!"

Sam jerked awake, nearly falling off the couch in the process.

"Whoa, Sam, stay still!" Dean said, sounding worried. Sam had the sudden irrational thought that there was a snake nearby, looking ready to strike. Dean certainly looked like he was just bit by one.

Dean dashed into the kitchen and came back carrying a few paper towels in one arm and the rest of the roll in the other. In a flash he was by Sam's side.

"Holy shit, Sammy, what happened?" Sam's, addled with sleep and pain, couldn't for the life of him figure out what was going on.

"Wha-" he said uncertainly. Dean didn't even spare him a glance as he was apparently entirely focused on Sam's chest. For a second Sam wondered if maybe there really _was_ a snake on his chest. He couldn't help but let his eyes wander over just in case.

He nearly screamed in shock.

There wasn't a snake on his chest, but that was where the good news ended. The entire front of his slightly muddy shirt was soaked in blood as well as staining the couch.

"Jesus, Sammy, Jesus! What happened?" Sam didn't know how to answer. Not that he could answer if he wanted to. No, he was too busy trying to stomp down on his own panic. Where had it come from? He hadn't thought any of his injuries were bleeding. He ran through the list in his head and was unable to produce a single injury that should be bleeding like that. So what _was _bleeding?

Dean was clearly thinking along the same lines, though he was unaware of the extent of Sam's injuries. Holding a paper towel in his hand, Dean began to pat down Sam's chest, both looking for the sight of injury as well as mopping up some of the bloody mess. Without knowing it, he pressed down on Sam's cracked rib. The onslaught of pain was so hard and so unexpected, Sam couldn't contain the small scream that rose to his lips.

Dean jerked back like he'd been electrocuted and whipped around to look at Sam's face. Emotions slid on and off Dean's face so fast Sam only managed to recognize shock and relief followed by the final emotion, something between irritation and anger.

"Fuck, Sammy, you could have just _told_ me it was a damn bloody nose. And what are you thinking? You know you're not supposed to lay like that with a bloody nose, it only aggravates the problem!" Dean said very quickly.

Sam sat there stunned for a moment before slowly raising a hand to his nose. Sure enough there was a warm liquid flowing out of it and sliding down his chin.

Dean seemed to recover from whatever emotion was holding him hostage and realize that, bloody nose or not, Sam was still hurt.

Dean ripped off another paper towel and pressed it to Sam's nose.

"Hold that there," he silently commanded. Sam pinched his nose through the paper towel. Dean slid his hand around to the back of Sam's neck as Sam tipped his head back.

"So what did happen?" Dean asked.

"Dunno," Sam said nasally as his nose was plugged. He was still asking himself the same question.

What _had_ happened?

He did recall that one punch that hit him on the side of the nose and the faint notion that he might have a bloody nose that had come after. But after lying on the grass for a while, thinking of nothing and letting his mind just go blank to handle the pain, the bloody nose had gotten lost amongst more serious injuries.

"Really? So your nose just spontaneously started spurting blood did it?" Dean asked with the sarcasm laid on thick.

Sam was pretty sure his nose had stopped bleeding so he pulled the towel from it and looked at Dean, his face the perfect face of irritation – the "bitch face" as Dean called it.

"I don't know, Dean!" Sam snapped. He stood up quickly, determined to be alone for just a moment to figure things out. Dean stood up hastily when Sam swayed dangerously.

"Whoa, Sam, take it easy," Dean said, all trace of annoyance or anger gone. Now it was only concern for his younger brother.

"I'm gonna…I'm gonna go…" Sam trailed off. What he was going to do was go to the bathroom and take care of the rest of his injuries, but he wasn't going to tell Dean that. Dean couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in slightly humor as he watched Sam stumbled over his words.

"I'm gonna go clean up," Sam finally finished. Stumbling slightly, he made his way over to the bathroom. The blood loss gave him a headache and made him dizzy causing him to weave slightly on his way. I must look drunk, he told himself, snickering on the inside.

Once inside the bathroom, he shut and locked the door then collapsed against it. He took a few deep breaths, trying to get everything sorted out. It had all happened so fast, one minute he was laying down to rest, promising himself no more than five minutes, and next thing he know Dean's freaking out, which freaked Sam out, and he's covered in blood. Sam briefly wondered if his nose hadn't actually been bleeding that hard, but had just been bleeding for a while since nothing had been done to stop it and lying with his head tilted forward would have only made it worse. If it had been bleeding since that punch then that certainly seemed like a logical explanation.

He went over to the sink and looked at his refection in the mirror. Sam jumped back in shock. Did he really look like that? No wonder Dean had been so scared - Sam stopped himself right there. Dean? Scared? No. It didn't happen. Though he did look quite frightened…but only until he realized Sam wasn't on the verge of dying of blood loss.

Sam's skin was so pale it looked translucent. His eyes looked sunken and there were slight circles under his eyes. Sam's hair was still wet from the rain and was plastered to his head making him look sick with fever. His mouth and chin were covered in dried blood which had ran down his neck onto his shirt.

Overall he looked like an extra from a zombie horror movie.

Sam mentally went over all his injuries and the order in which he'd take care of them.

Ribs. Wrist. Head. Ribs. Wrist. Head.

He repeated the list over and over in his head to make sure he didn't forget anything, not that he could with the pain.

First up: ribs.

He bent down carefully and grabbed the red first aid kit under the sink. He smirked slightly when he caught sight of a bottle of Jack Daniels sitting next to it. Whiskey: the Winchester cure to all problems, emotional and physical.

Sam gently grabbed onto the bottom of his t-shirt and began to pull it over his head. He didn't even get his arms above shoulder level before his rib cage flared up in pain. Quickly thinking of a plan B, Sam grabbed the scissors from the bottom level of the plastic box. Working quickly, lest Dean get suspicious, he snipped the shirt off. Not like it mattered anyway, the shirt was so stained with filth and blood, it'd never come clean.

Sam cringed slightly. His torso looked almost worse than the rest of him. Several different spots were mottled blue and black and slightly tinged with yellow. From the first aid kit, Sam produced a small tube of cream that helped reduce swelling and discoloration. He gently rubbed it over the worst looking spots on his chest; to cover them all would use the whole tube.

Unrolling some bandages, Sam slowly began to wrap his ribs. It didn't hurt as much as it usually would as he only had cracked one as opposed to the usual multiple broken ribs the Winchesters' always seemed to attain. Once the bandage was tight and secure, Sam moved on to the next item on the injury list: wrist. That one would be harder to hide. For the night, he'd probably be able to hide it by claiming exhaustion and slipping off to his own room, but come tomorrow…he'd have to face Dean and an ACE bandage wasn't exactly inconspicuous, especially on an area he used as much as his wrist.

Well he'd deal with that battle when it came. For now he had to focus on slipping past Dean's injured little brother radar which always seemed to inform Dean when Sam was hurt worse than he was letting on.

Sam held up his wrist for inspection. Thankfully it was his left wrist or he'd be totally screwed. Carefully, Sam wrapped the tan, stretchy bandage around his wrist, which proved to be more difficult than expected with only one hand.

Once that was done Sam moved onto the last item on his injury list: his head - both his headache and his bruised and bloody nose. Sam gently wet a washcloth with warm water and began to tenderly dab at the blood on his face and neck, relishing in the feeling of the warm water against his face. He dabbed a little of the bruise cream on the purple spot along the side of his nose.

As a final touch Sam popped a few aspirin and cleaned up the bathroom, tossing the ruined shirt. Then he realized he didn't have another shirt and if he went out without one Dean would see the white bandage wrapped around his chest.

As expected, Dean appeared right outside the door the second it opened. Sam didn't emerge fully, instead poking only his head out.

"What took so long?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"Sorry, I was just enjoying the warm water. Can you grab me a shirt, please?" Dean looked at him oddly, it wasn't like Dean hadn't seen him without a shirt before. "Please," Sam said, adding a tinge of sadness to his voice. As expected, Sam's misery made Dean forget any doubts he had and go to Sam's room. He returned a minute later with a large navy blue shirt that Sam had left on his bed that morning.

"Thanks," Sam said as he took the shirt and retreated back into the bathroom. Biting down hard to stop himself from crying out, Sam pulled the shirt on as quick as he could. Thankfully, Dean didn't open the door and waited for Sam to once again emerge. But once Sam did emerge, Dean was there like a moth to flame.

"Sam?" he asked immediately. He wanted to know what the hell was going on. Sam didn't blame him, it must seem very strange form his point of view.

"Please, Dean, not now. I'm absolutely exhausted. Just wait until morning okay? Please?" There must have been some true misery on his face because Dean caved.

"Fine, but don't think I won't bring it up in the morning." Sam nodded then headed into his room. Dean would hold true to his word, no doubt. It wasn't very late, but Sam was still incredibly tired and was in desperate need of a true rest.

As tired as he was, he still wasn't able to sleep two hours later. It was weird being tired but unable to sleep, like a real life oxymoron. It was probably all the crazy thoughts whirling through his head at that moment, but what was he supposed to do? The day had been crazy, plain and simple.

Sam wasn't sure what possessed him at that moment, but he slowly got to his feet and walked silently across the hall and into Dean's room. Dean's even and steady breathing instantly calming Sam as he slipped in.

Moonlight streamed in the window and fell across Dean in his bed. Dean was on his side, his arm hanging off the bed making it look like he was trying to hail a cab in his sleep.

TBC…

***Epistaxis is a technical term for nosebleed, hence the chapter title being what it is.**

**Review Replies:**

**supernaturalrenegade: **Luci, hopefully you continue to feel that this just keeps getting better. I guess that whole fight, ignore, make-up thing must be a brother thing then. Lonely is such a hard emotion (and sometimes a physical hurt to) I hate those days when you wake up and it's like everything's working against you that day. I highly doubt I'll enjoy school, but I suppose it's possible.

**LeighAnnWallace: **Sam will tell Dean…just not before I have more fun with him. Writing the relationship between the brothers as teens is always fun because it can be done in so many different ways!

**1xadzy3dgftw1xLSNx3dg1xMGG: **Yeah, Dean's not really one for drawn out apologies but it doesn't matter because him and Sam have that connection where you get what the other person's trying to say even without the words. I can't stand bullies either. I know you're not supposed to judge someone until you get to know them and all that but, really, I don't think anything condones that kind of behavior. Just because your life is rough doesn't mean you can make other people's lives rough too. I'll try not to make anything too drawn out as I agree that Dean would pester Sam for answers, however he might get a bit…distracted ;)

**Sarah: **Gotta love chick flick moments! It's kind of funny, even though Winchester's seem to try and avoid chick flick moments like the plague, you'd be hard pressed to find a single fanfic (at least a hurt/comfort one) that didn't have some type of chick flick moment.

**Colby's girl: **So Dean didn't see the bruises but saw something else. And Dean might get a bit side tracked for asking his little bro what happened *evil smirk*

**judyann: **You are lucky, that must have been really close! Our power kept going on and off forever! Even though we weren't flooded too much, our town got about 7 inches of rain. Thankfully it was spread out and not a sudden downpour or we'd be in a lot more trouble!I can't see Sam immediately accepting the apology, but at the same time I can't see him holding out too long so that's why I wrote it that way.

**Sparkiebunny: **I've been _dying_ to use that line (you and me against the world) forever! And I finally found somewhere where I could stick it in so I'm glad you appreciated the sappiness! And Dean's far to manly to admit that he wanted his little bro by his side, but of course Dean wants his Sammy!

**casammy: **Yeah, we Sam girls are all twisted cause we love hurting Sam so much. The best part of the chick flick moment is you know Dean will only participate in one if he's really worried/upset. And I assure you that revenge will be taken, but not for a while.

**Gord and V: **Poor Sam is just not having a good day…or month rather. It's only going to get worse…

**where the wind blows: **enjoy your update :)

**lilithakaducky: **awww, so sweet! Thanks (now I"m blushing!)


	8. Raging Inferno

**Hey guys! This chapter is definitely one of my least favorite but I really wanted to include a scene like this, so here it is!**

**Just wanted to get these out there as a few people have asked 1-it may be a while before Dean finds everything out so don't expect resolution until closer to the end and 2-I'll tell you all what Textus means in the last chapter**

**Warnings: See chapter 1  
>Disclaimer: See chapter 1<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Word count: 2,200<br>Chapter: 8/21  
>Next Update: Sunday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 8: Raging Inferno**

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><p>The next morning, Sam felt significantly better. After leaving Dean's room last night, he'd managed to actually get a good night's sleep. It was the first time in so long that Sam was quite surprised when he woke up actually feeling rested. It was a wonderful feeling and Sam had taken a few moments just to lay in bed and revel in it.<p>

Eventually he tore himself from his comfortable position in his soft bed and stumbled into the bathroom where he dry swallowed some pain pills.

Although his rib ached every now and then, it never really hurt unless he moved too suddenly. His wrist was looking much less purple and swollen so he'd unwrapped it. If he wore a sweatshirt of something, Dean would never know. The bruise on his nose thankfully wasn't as noticeable as expected and his headache was almost non-existent.

He'd moseyed into the living room before changing course when his stomach gave a fierce growl, reminding Sam that he'd never eaten dinner the night before.

He wandered into the kitchen to find something to eat. In the fridge, Sam was delighted to find a pack of bacon. Actual bacon!

Normally Sam wasn't one for all that high cholesterol, incredibly fattening crap Dean seemed to love, but bacon was his one weakness. Normally they didn't buy it because of its high price, but Dean must have spent some of the extra money he earned from the garage on it. Maybe that was why he was home late. The previous evening, Sam could have sworn it was after four o' clock when Dean woke him up even though Dean usually got off of work at four. No way he went to bed at 4:30, it had been nearly dark after all…though then again it had been thundering so it was rather dark anyway…

But this made sense. If Dean had hung around work a little late to flirt with girls or finish a car, as he seemed to have been doing lately, then drove the twenty minutes to the nearest store, found bacon (and most likely flirted with every girl in the store) and drove back. That made more sense.

Sam made a mental note to thank his brother when he woke up, then pulled enough bacon for two from the package. He started the burner and placed the bacon in a skillet on top.

The delicious smell began to fill the kitchen and Sam inhaled deeply a few times just to get the full enjoyment out of it.

While he was standing there, watching the bacon crack and sizzle, there was a crash from outside.

Sam froze.

His first thought was Mike. Somehow Mike had found out where he lived and had come to finish up on him.

Sam tried to tell himself he was being paranoid, but he still couldn't shake the feeling. He glanced around the kitchen for a weapon. Besides the spatula in his hand, there was only one other thing. And he was not going to attack someone with a toaster, that was for sure.

Why didn't they keep any weapons closer to the door?

He dropped the utensil on the counter and towards the front entrance. He seized the umbrella there that Dean kept in the impala, but had been taken out yesterday in order for Dean to get from the car to the house without getting his leather jacket wet. Sam seized the handle and raised it above his head.

Quietly, Sam opened the door and stepped outside. He glanced around, once more feeling like prey being stalked, taking in every detail.

Something was rustling…

Holding the umbrella tighter, Sam cautiously stepped forward.

More rustling…

Was Mike going to jump out and get him? Or maybe it was some crazed murder that had come up here to hide. And once he found out Sam had discovered his secret hiding place, he'd no doubt kill the teen…

A crack and the silver trashcan fell over…

Sam held his breath as something streaked out…

This was it, life or death…

It was a cat.

An orange tabby cat that looked at him strangely. What? Was it suddenly weird to stand outside in your pajamas holding an umbrella above your head looking at a cat like it might be a murderer in disguise?

Sam slowly lowered the umbrella and calmed his breathing. He just managed to get his heart rate under control when…

"SAM!" Sam jumped nearly a foot in the air and whipped around while brandishing his umbrella. Inside – it had come from inside. Just Dean. Then Sam looked at the door in surprise. He was only outside, for crying out loud, it wasn't like he was actually being murdered or anything. No need for Dean to scream at the top of his lungs and awake the whole neighborhood. Sam quickly opened the door wondering what on Earth was so important that Dean felt the need to talk to him _right that very moment. _

"Jeez, Dean, no need to yell-" Sam's sentence died when he realized what Dean was screaming about.

The bacon, and by extension the stove, was on fire. Not one out of control flame that leapt up in the skillet, but like an actual, honest-to-God, fire.

Sam stood frozen for a minute.

Fire.

Winchester's didn't do fire. It was the one enemy that had claimed victory over them.

"W-where's the fire extinguisher?" Sam stammered, finally recovering from his shock.

"I don't know, do we have one?" Dean said, looking just as panicky as Sam. If they didn't do something soon, the fire would spread. The kitchen was already starting to fill with smoke and heat up a good few degrees.

"The guy who rented the place should have one here!" Sam shouted.

"Where?"

"I don't know! Look around!"

So they started tearing around the kitchen and front entrance looking for one, ripping open any cupboards that weren't on fire and checking behind things.

No such luck.

"What good is it having one if you can't find it!" Dean yelled as the flames spread to the cabinets closest to it.

Suddenly and long beeping filled house.

"The smoke alarm!"

"No shit, Sherlock. What the fuck did you think it was?" Dean shouted angrily.

"No, no, I mean, look!" The fire alarm was on the opposite wall of the kitchen next to a light blue piece of furniture with a drawer and large cabinet underneath. Sam knew from experience hand towels were in the drawer, but maybe…

Sam dashed over to the piece of furniture, trying hard to suppress a cough, and ripped it open. Sure enough, in the back corner was a red metal tube.

Even though the fire wasn't huge yet, it was already significantly warmer and Sam could feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck. There was smoke in the air, which was quickly getting thicker, making it harder to breathe.

Sam scooped it up turned back to where the fire was starting to spread further. Sam tossed the extinguisher to Dean who caught it with ease. He ripped the pin out and pressed the button causing a white mist to fill the kitchen. Dean swept side to side covering all the flames until they fully disappeared.

It was over nearly as quickly as it started. Even though it felt like an eternity, it couldn't have been more than two or three minutes. Five if you counted Sam leaving the kitchen.

Sam stood next to Dean, both breathing heavy. The now mostly empty red can slipped from Dean's lack grip and crashed loudly as it hit the floor.

In front of them was a path of destruction.

The stove and all the cabinets around the stove had long, ugly black marks along them. There was a light white foam all over the cabinets making it look like some weird pattern with the black scorches below it. The green backsplash looked like a color blind five year old had painted it. There were several items strewn across the floor that had been ripped from their spot in the mad search for the extinguisher. And sitting along on the countertop was the spatula, the plastic end now a melted mess. But the smell was the worst. There was a hint of burnt food covered by the smell of the scorched wood and melted plastic, which really, really smelled.

On the plus side, it had gotten him out of having to explain the bloody nose to Dean. Though it seemed a heavy price to pay…

Dean turned to look at him with his mouth hanging open, the perfect picture of shock. Dean's eyes slid between Sam, and the disastrous kitchen a few times.

"W…w-wha…" Dean stammered, unable to comprehend what was going on.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Standing in the doorway, looking rather menacing, was a very pissed John Winchester, looking around at the chaotic mess that was the kitchen.

"Um…" Dean stammered, looking around at the kitchen. Dean was floundering, trying to follow orders and answer a question he didn't know the answer to. Well, Sam wasn't about to let his older brother take the heat for something he did, even if he did have to face John Winchester's wrath.

"It was me," Sam said quietly.

"What?" Dean said, looking surprised. Whether he was surprised it was Sam or just surprised Sam owned up to it, Sam didn't know. Dean eyed the door, clearly wondering how Sam had started a fire while being outside.

"And what, Sam, did you possibly do to start a kitchen fire?"

"I was cooking a-and I thought I heard something outside, so I went out to check what it was-"

"What was it?" Dean asked, looking surprised again.

"A cat," Sam said, feeling stupid.

"A cat? A goddamn cat? You burned down half the kitchen over a cat?" John said, eyes bugging slightly. Fire did that to the Winchesters, freaked them out like nothing else.

"I thought maybe it was something supernatural, so I just thought I should check to be safe." Maybe it was a bit of a lie, but the basic theme was the same.

"You thought it was something supernatural so you grabbed an umbrella?" Dean asked, nothing but humor in his voice. He got it, he understood why Sam had left.

But John on the other hand looked nothing but disappointed.

"I didn't mean to." Sure it was the oldest excuse in the book, but Sam felt the need to blurt it out anyway.

"Whether you meant to or not, you shouldn't have let it happen at all!" John shouted.

"Dad, it was just a mistake," Dean said, once again stepping in as mediator.

"Mistakes can get you killed, Dean," John replied simply. "Besides, how am I going to pay for this?" he asked, looking around as though daring someone to have an answer.

"I'll save up a little extra from the garage, Dad. And maybe the rich guy who owns this place can chip in, it's not like he's hard pressed for cash," Dean said.

Sam cringed. _Save a little extra from the garage._ Last time Dean did that he bought bacon which Sam used to set the kitchen on fire.

"I have almost a hundred saved up, too" Sam said.

A hundred dollars. Basically it was Sam's life savings. Occasionally they got a little money for a birthday or holiday, plus what Sam had saved up from doing stuff like shoveling walkways and mowing lawns. Sam had been saving that money up for something special, he didn't really know what, but he was saving it for something. Truthfully, the thought of spending it made him cringe. But he was the one who created the problem and he'd own up.

"No, Sam, you were going to spend that on something special," Dean protested. Sam knew he would.

"But it's my fault this happened in the first place," Sam stated.

"No, Sammy, we'll find another way."

"But, Dean-"

"Sam," this time it was John who spoke. It was a weary, but accepting tone of voice. "We'll find another way to pay for the kitchen. You shouldn't have to use your savings to pay for home repair," he said the last part slightly bitterly.

"I'm sorry," Sam added again for good measure. John looked over at him then seemed to notice something for the first time.

"Sam, what happened to your nose?"

"I was wondering the same thing," Dean added.

Sam sighed, trying to buy time. He searched his brain for something believable.

"Someone tripped me and I ran into an open locker door at school," Sam said. There. A good lie wasn't too far from the truth that way it was much more plausible and a good lie didn't have too many details. Enough to make it believable, but any more and it'd seem unnatural. Besides, Dean knew that Sam had been picked on in previous schools. His hand-me-down clothes and his interest in school made sure of that.

It appeared good enough for both Dean and John because they both gave small nods, Dean with a small, sympathetic smile on his face.

Suddenly Dean wrinkled up his nose and furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I smell bacon?"

TBC...

**Review Replies:**

**LeighAnnWallace: **couldn't agree more! I hate when people write young/teen Winchesters and they make Sam (especially Sam) seem all weak and go running to Dean with every little problem.

**Cartoon Cow: **Ohmygod, that must have been so shocking for them! Once I cut my chin and it was like pouring blood and I didn't even know. Scared the crap out of my mom when she saw :)

**supernaturalrenegade: **You have me in stitches from laughing so much! Personally, chapter 7 was one of my favorite ones. I know I'd be in a panic if I walked in on someone covered in blood! Did Friday come quick enough? Lol! PS I'll email you as soon as I can but it might be a bit!

**Gord and V: **Don't we all! But then again, if Sam always told Dean his problems a lot of fanfiction wouldn't have been written. We love to make Sam suffer in silence!

**where the wind blows: **okay, quick question – what is your penname from? It sounds really familiar but I might just be altering something I heard a long time ago. True, but what fun would it be if Sam always told Dean his problems? Sam is just too much fun to torture! Besides, that just means more emotion at the end!

**1xadzy3dgftw1xLSNx3dg1xMGG: **Ahh, I was wondering how long before someone asked me what Textus meant. Well, guess what…you'll have to wait! I'm going to reveal all in the last chapter. Lol, I'll tell Sam you send hugs and cookies :) I know what you mean about being tired but unable to sleep. I based that part off of my own personal experience. Feel free to ramble as much as you want to in future chapters!

**judyann: **yup, I'm a Sammy Sadist. But I really only like hurting him because of how Dean reacts in the end. Love me some chick flick moments. I figured that even if they're like the awesomest team, Sam and Dean are still brothers and are bound to fight. So that's why I write their relationship like I do.

**Casammy: **Yeah, Sam is always trying to be like Dean. John should be proud of him for school stuff too, but he's just not :( Dean's just got that flare for knowing when something is wrong.

**Jolynn3277: **Oh, yes, Dean will definitely find out and totally blow his lid, but it won't be for a bit (wouldn't be much of a story if I just had Dean figure it out and stop it!) Thanks for reviewing!

**Sparkiebunny, sarah **(may be a while b4 you get your explanation!): **Thanks as always, every review is much appreciated! **


	9. Consequences

**This is actually one of my favorite chapters so I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. Also, THANK YOU soo much for the reviews! I broke a hundred! Makes me feel so giddy! So on that note I'm gonna go write some more!**

**Warnings: Self harm, swearing and bullying  
>Disclaimer: See chapter 1<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Word count: 2,500<br>Chapter: 9/21  
>Next Update: Hopefully Tuesday but maybe Wednesday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 9: Consequences**

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><p>Grounded. As punishment for carelessly leaving the bacon cooking, Sam was grounded. Not that it really mattered to him. It's not like he went anywhere besides his room and school anyway. It was his fault.<p>

He shouldn't have let Mike get to him. What was he thinking? Like Mike would actually come to his house. Sam scoffed at himself, what a ludicrous notion. He was an idiot, a total fucking idiot.

Sam paced around his room like a caged animal. It was funny how much free will made a difference. Even though he spent almost every day since they'd arrived alone in his room, it didn't bother him until he _couldn't_ leave his room. It wasn't like there was anything out there that he really wanted or needed at that moment but he still wanted out. Badly. He needed to _do_ something. Not just walk angrily in a circle destroying anything that fell across is path.

Draw, that's what he'd do. Drawing always helped get his emotions in check. He grabbed his sketchpad and pencil from the bottom of his duffle and tossed them on the bed. He flopped down next to them and flipped open to the dog.

The ears were the next thing that needed to be done then the eyes. Sam always did the eyes last as they were often the hardest. Eyes held so much emotion that it was hard to capture with graphite. Sam stared at the empty space that would soon be an ear, waiting for the image to come to him. He couldn't draw it if he couldn't picture it in his head. He had to know what the ear had looked like originally.

But he couldn't picture it.

He couldn't _remember_ the dog. The details were gone, now a fuzzy image. The dog suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world. What had the ears looked like? Sam couldn't finish the picture if he couldn't remember. He had to get it right.

How could he not remember? It hadn't been that long ago! Sure it wasn't something so important that it'd stick to the forefront of his brain, but still…he was _always _able to recall the details, it was what enabled him to draw so well. Sam felt like he had forgotten a long time friend.

How could he just _forget?_ Sam wanted to kick himself.

But maybe…maybe he hadn't truly forgotten…maybe it'd come to him in a few days…yes it would come to him soon. Sam let out a sigh of relief and, feeling significantly better, began to find something else to occupy his time.

So instead, he spent the entire day doing homework and reading to pass time while listening to the radio. If he got bored or his head started to hurt, he'd just stop and relax for a bit, sometimes even falling asleep a few times.

"Dinner!" John called from the kitchen. As if on cue, his stomach gave a small growl. He was pretty hungry. For lunch he'd merely grabbed an apple then retreated to his room, not wanting to spend any more time than necessary in the burnt kitchen.

The kitchen had been cleaned as much as possible. The stuff from the fire extinguisher had been cleaned up and the counters had been wiped down. The only thing left was the scorch marks on the cabinet doors.

Sam walked quickly as possible into the kitchen. It was just something he always did after he and his dad fought. He'd go out of his way to fulfill orders as quickly as possible. Sometimes he went overboard just because he knew it annoyed his dad. Like once John had told him to go out and run laps even though it was dark. So, despite Dean's protests, Sam went out and ran. He had run and run and didn't stop until he ended up throwing up in a bush.

Sam sat down at the table awkwardly. It appeared they were having some type of cooked chicken with some mashed potatoes. John always put more effort in if they were staying longer. Once again everyone at the table was reading - John his journal, Dean a car magazine – and Sam cursed himself for not bringing his book. He was nearly finished, only a chapter or two left.

Sam fiddled with the steak knife while he chewed on a piece of the chicken. It was actually pretty good, not too tough. Without even realizing it, Sam ran his thumb along the edge of the serrated knife, not hard, but enough that he could feel it. He liked to fiddle with things.

"So what are you planning on doing tomorrow?" John asked without looking up. Sam mentally cringed. In truth, he wanted to go to the library to do some research, but he knew John wouldn't like that answer.

"Um, I'm not sure," Sam said casually, focusing on cutting more chicken.

"Soon you and Dean will have to get back into training." Yup, saw that coming. Still, Sam tightened his grip on his silverware to keep from retorting back with something less than pleasant.

"I have to get some school work done," Sam added lightly.

"More school work? Isn't that what you did all day?" Dean asked, disbelief written all over his face.

"Well sort of, I read a lot too and stared at the ceiling for a while," Sam joked.

No one laughed.

"Right, well, you're going to have to start training soon," John said simply as he stood up with his plate. He flipped his journal closed and tucked it under his arm then rinsed the plate off in the sink and tucked it away in the dish washer. John went off to his own room leaving Dean and Sam alone.

Sam sensed eyes on him and looked up to see Dean watching him with an odd look on his face. He was worrying his lower lip between his teeth like he wanted to say something but couldn't get the words sorted out right.

Sam knew he should probably help his brother out by starting a conversation but he couldn't bring himself to care. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to be alone.

Eventually, Dean gave up and rose from his seat with a sigh. He washed his plate off as well before adding it to the dishwasher. With one final fleeting glance at Sam, Dean too left the kitchen.

Sam stared at the empty space where Dean had been standing for a long time. He knew John was mad at him, but he didn't know where he and Dean stood. Was Dean mad? Did he understand?

While Sam was rinsing off his own plate, he spotted something up on his thumb. He held it up in front of his face for inspection.

Blood. A single bead of crimson staining his pale skin. It slipped from a tiny cut in his thumb he hadn't even realized he'd made with the knife.

Sam stared, memorized by the tiny prick of liquid. It was weird to see, so tiny yet part of something so much bigger. It was his life, that tiny spot of red, sliding slowly down his thumb.

There was a tiny pick of pain, but it seemed justified. After all, he _had_ set the kitchen on fire. In fact, come to think of it, that small pinch of pain wasn't nearly enough in comparison to all the shit he'd done lately. Arguing with Dean, arguing with his dad, losing the shoes, forgetting his homework…the list went on and on. And now he couldn't even hold his own against some bullies. What kind of hunter got the crap beat out of him by high school Neanderthals? His was a Winchester flunk out; a failure in their lifestyle. He deserved the pain. He deserved it all tenfold. That tiny prick? It wasn't nearly enough to make up for everything he'd done to Dean and John. Dean gave him chance after chance and Sam screwed it up every time. Dean deserved a better little brother, someone who'd actually make him proud. And his dad…his dad deserved another son who'd do what was asked of him without questions; deserved a son who could hunt. He failed as a son and as a brother.

Good Lord, how on Earth did Dean and John put up with him?

But for some reason that little drop of blood seemed to make up for it, if only for a moment. It gave Sam a small minute of relief; of control over his crazy life.

More. He needed more. More blood, more pain, more relief.

He stepped into the living room to find the weapon's bag.

"Hey, Sam, wanna watch some TV with me?" Sam nearly flew a mile with shock. He spun around so fast he nearly fell over.

"D-Dean? W-what…TV? Uh, no thanks, I'm gonna…gonna go do…something…" Sam said. Dean looked at him like he'd just grown another head. Sam shot him a nervous smile before walking quickly down the hall.

Damn, so close…but he would wait. He was a hunter, however bad he was, and had learned the art of patience. He could wait until Dean went back to his room, it'd be worth it.

His patience was rewarded when an hour later, Dean's sock feet padded softly the hall.

Sam slipped silently down the hall. As he passed both John and Dean's room, he held his breath. Midway down the hall, there was a loud creak. Sam froze. He could hear the heart racing. It was stupid really, he was just going down the hallway. Even if he was caught, it wasn't like his dirty intentions would be revealed.

After a minute of high anxiety, Sam realized that no one was coming.

Once he made it safely to the living room, he immediately went over to the weapons bag.

It seemed like every single sound was magnified a hundred times. Sam jumped at every noise that was ever slightly loud. Unzipping the duffle was like hell as it squeaked and creaked.

Once it was finally finished, Sam let out a breath, then freaked out at the noise. He stared down the hallway for almost a full minute, just waiting for Dean to step out and ask him what the hell he was doing.

When no one came Sam went back to the bag. He edged his hand in quietly and wrapped it around the knife he used the most often. It had a dark black handle that felt natural in his hand, like an extension of his arm instead of a knife. Leaving it sheathed, he slipped it into the waistband of his pants and very carefully re-zipped the bag. He stared at it for a minute, trying to make sure nothing was noticeable out of place.

_Get a grip, Sam, you're being paranoid!_ He hissed to himself. He proceeded down the hall, staying on the edge to make sure not to step on any creaky spots. When he finally made it into his room, he nearly collapsed from relief.

Sam locked the door and dropped down onto his bed. In truth, the bathroom would probably be best place, but at the moment, Sam felt more secure in his own room. His own room…weird he'd never really had his own room before. It was a nice feeling…having something to call your own...a sanctum; a safety.

He grabbed a few tissues and placed them on his lap. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. No getting sloppy and leaving blood anywhere.

He positioned the knife over his injured wrist, higher than the slight discoloration. Might as well not make it any harder on himself and have two wrists to hide.

Sam channeled all his emotions into the silver blade and pushed it sharply into his pale open flesh. Blood immediately welled up in the cut and Sam watched memorized as it trickled down the side of his wrist.

It was beautiful in horrible way. That elegant crimson was the line between life and death. It was in his hands, in his control. Even though everything else may be spinning out of his hand, he would always have the choice to end it. Not that he would, he could never do that to Dean, but it was a mind blowing concept. So quickly a life could be lost, be it his own or someone else's. It brought into perspective how very small a person was. In the grand scheme of it all, did he really matter?

When the blood finally dripped off the edge of his wrist and dropped onto the tissue, Sam realized he had to stop. For tonight or for good, Sam didn't know. He tried to tell himself it was wrong and he needed to stop, but the relief and control overpowered it. Who was he kidding? He'd do it again. Tomorrow maybe.

But for now, he'd have to settle with that one little cut. It was getting late.

Sam set about cleaning up. The tissues went into the trash and, after changing into his pajamas, Sam went to the bathroom to wash the knife off and prepare for bed.

Once all was said and done, Sam tucked the knife under the mattress and laid down to sleep, his wrist wrapped cleanly in a white bandage.

TBC...

**Review Replies:**

**Cartoon Cow: **I cut my chin sledding. Brillant, huh? I was totally unaware until I went inside. Dean is like master of all things food. I felt that line wrapped the chapter up well.

**supernaturalrenegade: **Yay! Nothing makes me happier than to know my readers can feel what my characters feeling! What's better than a protective big brother? I love when he comes to Sam's defense in front of John. It doesn't that happen much but I feel that if it came down to it, Dean would choose Sam over his dad. It will indeed take its toll on Sam. Did you enjoy his spiraling?

**sarah:** It's my pleasure! I love updating and I try hard not to make people wait too long even if I'm stuck. I hate when you get to a really good story and then all of a sudden it just stops and you never get to find out what happens!

**Gord and V: **Yeah, I know what you mean. That's one of the best part of h/c stories, seeing the end when Sam is finally happy or safe or whatever. Sam's only getting worse sadly. Leave it to Dean to smell the bacon :)

**judyann: **John's a bit of a antagonist in this so I guess it's a good thing you're not liking him. I love those moments when Dean stands up to John in Sam's defense. Just shows how far Dean would go for his little bro.

**where the wind blows: **Lol yeah. Sam could be an interior designer! Yeah, it was kind of unexpected and I suppose it wasn't absolutely necessary for the story but I did want a way to make it so Dean wouldn't have a chance to really interrogate Sam about what happened to his nose.

**1xadzy3dgftw1xLSNx3dg1xMGG: **Okay first off, I'm getting better at your penname! I only have to look once or twice to get it all. Guess it helps to know what it means. Anyway, I agree, the Winchesters really have it rough. A lot of people don't think about the finer things, like getting certain types of food, so I really wanted to stick that in there. Sam's getting a bit paranoid about Mike, glad you picked up on that! John always seems to overreact when it comes to Sam. A few years ago I blew up the microwave with an egg by accident. My mom was mad but nothing at all like John (thankfully!) Sam's gonna hold out for as long as he can with his secrets (of course, I'll find a way to break him :) Good evil? I can live with that.

**Casammy: **Ah, yeah, such a funny image :) I done that a few times to (burning pots and such) and I too am very graceful at it ;)

**caz21, LeighAnnWallace, Briell-W, Sparkiebunny, d767468: **Thank you all so much, you have no idea how happy reviews, short or long, make me :)


	10. Hiding

**This chapter is really only a filler so sorry if it's not terribly exciting, I promise action next time!**

**Just wanted to say there will be NO suicide in this story. **

**Warnings: Self harm, swearing and bullying  
>Disclaimer: See chapter 1<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Word count: 2,100<br>Chapter: 10/21  
>Next Update: Thursday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 10: Hiding**

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><p>Morning was a quiet affair. Sam slept in later than usual and once again awoke feeling rested. It was becoming a pleasant habit. Sam stared at the ceiling, tracing over the cracks with his eyes, and mulled over last night.<p>

It had been everything. It had been relief. It had been control. It had been punishment. It hurt more now that he was off of the high that came with it. But the pain was no more than he deserved.

Sam wanted to do it again. Soon. But he'd have to be careful, he couldn't be caught. They wouldn't understand. They would insist he stopped. This, this dangerous habit, was his release.

He needed to get up. Lying there thinking about it would only make him want it more.

Sam pushed himself out of bed and trekked into the kitchen to make himself a bowl of cereal.

He ate alone, John and Dean always slept in on Sundays. Dean could sleep till noon on any day, but John didn't allow it even if Dean didn't have to work.

Afterwards, he returned to his room. The library didn't open until one on Sundays so he had three whole hours to kill. First he figured he draw for a bit then go from there.

Sam pulled open his sketchbook and immediately flipped open to the dog. He stared at it for almost half an hour, but he still couldn't remember the details. It was like a foggy memory from years ago.

Finally after half an hour of staring intently at the dog, Sam finally gave up. He could sit there and search through his memory for hours and he wouldn't be able to remember, at least not that day. And even though he wasn't happy about it, he would just have to accept it for the moment.

He instead turned the page and started something new. Sam visualized the vase on Mrs. Chambers desk in his mind, making sure he could picture every detail. It was rectangular with sharply defined edges. The translucent glass had a purplish tinge to it which highlighted the golden yellow of the three sunflowers sticking out of the top.

Graphite met paper and Sam began to reproduce the image from his mind. He flawlessly traced over the petals and shaded the shadow.

When it was finished it was a near perfect copy, but Sam wasn't enjoying the usual thrill. Drawing something so impeccably usual filled Sam with a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment, but not this time. And he knew why.

Before drawing had been his escape; his chance to get out of the real world and focus completely on something that had nothing to do with hunting. His love of drawing was similar to his love of school. But now, now his escape was something much different.

In a moment of disgust with himself, Sam ripped the paper from his sketchbook and crumpled it into a ball in his hand. He pelted it as hard as he could at the wall.

He rolled onto his side and drew his knees up. For a tall fifteen year old who was all limbs, he could certainly curl into a small ball. His cracked rib gave a small throb of annoyance, but Sam ignored it. He also ignored the few salty tears that escaped his green eyes.

This town was changing everything. Him and Dean fought more in the week they'd been there then they had in the last year total. Everything that had mattered before didn't seem quite as important, schoolwork, drawing, all of it, just seemed a little lower on the priority list.

Without even realizing it, his eyes slipped closed and he slipped into a silent slumber.

"Sam! Lunch!" Sam jerked up and tumbled out of bed and onto the floor. He groaned and set about untangling himself from the cover which had been dragged to the floor with him. He got up and stumbled to the door only to stop again. He was still in his pajamas.

"One minute!" Sam yelled in reply. He quickly stepped out of his pajamas and into a t shirt and jeans. He slipped on a sweatshirt to hide the bandage on his wrist and headed to the kitchen for lunch.

"Where's Dad?" Sam asked as he sat down.

"On the phone with Bobby, talking about some hunt," Dean said as he shoveled food into his mouth.

Dean finished in record time – at least for most teenagers, for Dean is was just average speed for eating a burger – and washed his plate off.

"You still planning on getting your geeky ass down to the library today?" Dean asked nonchalantly as he leaned up against the counter.

"Yeah, I have to do a little research for a history project."

"What's the project about?" Sam almost smirked. He knew Dean didn't give a damn about schoolwork. He was only asking because he knew Sam cared and as childish as it was, a tiny warm fuzzy feeling ignited in his chest at the thought.

"The Reign of Terror."

"The what of what?"

"It was a time during the French Revolution which took place during the 1790's when hundreds of people who were thought to be anti-revolutionaries were executed. It was also the first time the guillotine was used," Sam recited.

"You lost me at 1790's," Dean said simply. "Well, some of us, unlike you nerds, enjoying relaxing on our Sunday afternoons so I'm gonna go grab a beer and plop in front of the TV," Dean said with a smirk. Dean went to leave but seemed to think of something else because he came back. He flipped his chair around and straddled it so he was looking right at Sam.

"Um," Sam said feeling both apprehensive and confused. "Do you need something," he said slowly.

"You know I never got to ask you, what happened to your nose?"

"I told you-"

"No you told me the crap lie you told Dad. What I want is the truth."

"Oh," Sam said slowly. Crap. Sam sighed. This was one fight he wasn't going to win. "Dean, it was just an accident, okay? Please just drop it," Sam pleaded desperately.

"But-"

"No, Dean, it wasn't anything serious. I'd come to you if it was, you know that."

Dean stared him up and down then finally gave a small shake of his head.

"Just promise me you'll come to me if you need help, okay?" Dean said. Sam nodded and Dean sighed. "I'll hold you to that," Dean said before leaving.

Half an hour later Sam walked quickly down the street. He told himself his hurry was merely to get there quickly so he had more time to spend on his project. It most certainly was _not_ because he was afraid of running into Mike. That had absolutely _nothing_ to do with it.

Sam pushed through the glass door entrance to the library. It was one very large room filled with bookshelves, comfy red armchairs, and a few tables.

"Can I help you?" The librarian asked as Sam walked up to the front desk. She had a friendly face with auburn hair that had streaks of grey in it.

"Um, hi, do you have any books about the French Revolution?"

"Yes, right over here," she said getting up and walking to a shelf on the left, "we have our history and geography section. I think you'll find what you're looking for around the 950s," she said while gesturing to the Dewey Decimal numbers along the bottom of the books.

"Thank you," Sam said quietly. She nodded and went back to her desk. Sam pulled several books from the shelf and sat down at one of the tables to busy himself in facts.

No matter how hard he tried, Sam couldn't drag his mind away from the events of last night. It scared him how mesmerized he was by the blood. No one should get relief from causing themselves pain…but then why did he?

Sam lost track of time as he lost himself to the facts and to his own thoughts. Without even realizing it, he filled up two whole pages with notes and went through three various books.

"Excuse me," a soft voice said next to him. He leapt up and whipped around, ready to strike out at his opponent. But his opponent turned out to be a very frightened and very alarmed looking librarian.

"O-oh, sorry, you startled me."

"Y-yes, I can see that," she said rather breathlessly while looking him up and down as though he might be hiding a weapon on him. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that we close in fifteen minutes," she said, still eyeing him warily.

"Thank you for telling me," Sam said, completely amazed so much time went by without him realizing it. "Again, I'm sorry for startling you," Sam said earnestly. She nodded before shuffling off, shooting him looks over her shoulder.

Sam sighed and gathered his books up and returned them to their spot on the shelf. He shoved his notes back in his bag and headed for the door. He pushed the glass doors open halfway before quickly retreating back into the library.

Standing around the light post smoking were Mike, Stubble and Blondie.

He couldn't face them, especially while he was still aching from last time. He glanced back to the librarian who was grabbing some things from the desk and sliding them into her bag. He needed a place to hide until they left…there was no chance of leaving the library without them seeing so he'd just have to stay.

Sam dashed to the left and silently jogged down a row of books. He skirted out of the other side and scurried across to the restroom. Leaving the light off, he stepped in and quietly shut the door. He leaned up against the door and waited for the sound of the librarian leaving.

A few minutes later, the sound of her light, pointed shoes could be heard as she walked towards the door. Once he heard the door shut behind her, Sam cautiously stepped out. After checking it was all clear, Sam walked quietly over to the door. They were still there. Well he would just have to wait them out, it's not like he'd told Dean he'd be home at a specific time.

Sam grabbed a book off the shelf and plopped down near the door where he could see them but he was pretty sure they couldn't see them. He opened his book and prepared to wait them out.

**Review Replies: Thanks to all!**

**judyann: **Yeah, Sammy's getting into a tough spot. Glad you can feel his feelings, nothing makes a writer happier! Johns only gonna get worse, just warning ya ;) And you're probably not gonna be too happy with Dean either. But you'll just have to wait for that!

**supernaturalrenegade: **Sammy's begun to dig himself into his dark little hole! It's only gonna get worse and even Dean will get worse before anything gets better. What was the quote again? You probably already told me and I just forgot, I do that a lot. I guess it's a good thing you like hurt Sam because that's what I do best!

**1xadzy3dgftw1xLSNx3dg1xMGG: **Yeah, Dean must get so frustrated with Sam since he always tries to keep his suffering to himself. But then again that's exactly what Dean does so you can't blame either of them. I appreciate the suggestion, but I do have the ending written (sorry!) I learned the hard way not to put hard boiled eggs into the microwave ;)

**Hummingfox: **Thanks so much! I'm glad you see/understand Sam's side of it and his reasons for not telling them. There will be much Winchester drama when John and Dean find out, rest assured ;)

**I'm no lady: **Feel free to call me Fuzzie, I quite like the nickname. Just wanted to say, I do appreciate suggestions though I won't use them unless I really like them and feel that they'll add something to the story. So don't worry, I plan to keep this story 100% my own invention. :) Thank you for coming to my defense though, makes me full all giddy inside!

**Gord and V: **Well I'm glad I shocked you! Twists are always a nice surprise, in my opinion because they add a whole new element to the story. You're quite right, it's a very long tunnel and no light will be seen for a while.

**Smiley Smackdown: **I'll give Sammy a hug for you ;) I just love putting Sam through emotional trauma! Thanks for reviewing!

**LeighAnnWallace, Sparkiebunny, caz21, sarah, Cartoon Cow: **Thanks to all of you wonderful reviewers, I appreciate them so much!


	11. Destroyed Memories

**This my favorite chapter of this entire story. Actually it's one of my favorite chapters I've ever written. Not quite sure why but it was just so enjoyable to write. Hopefully you like it all as much as me!**

**On that note, thanks to my wonderful readers and please please REVIEW!**

**Warnings: Self harm, swearing and bullying  
>Disclaimer: See chapter 1<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Word count: 2,300<br>Chapter: 11/21  
>Next Update: Saturday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 11: Destroyed Memories**

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><p>Sam was nearly done his book by the time they left. Sam hastily stowed his book away on the right shelf and unlocked the door. He felt bad about leaving it unlocked, but he couldn't lock it from the outside, and really, what could happen in a library?<p>

Sam stepped out into the bitter air. It was almost dark.

He was going to be in _so_ much trouble.

He took off running, but was forced to slow down by a sharp pain in his chest. His wrist didn't hurt as much anymore but the bruises on his chest and his cracked rib often flared in pain if he moved too much or too fast.

Sam rounded the bend at the top of the hill and the house came into view. The living room light was on and a shadow was passing back and forth. Sam cringed. If Dean was pacing he was in more trouble than he thought.

He rushed up to the door and quickly pushed it open.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I got caught up," he said hurriedly as he stepped in and kicked off his shoes.

"Sam!" Dean shouted angrily as he stormed in.

"Sorry, sorry," he said quickly.

"Where the hell have you been?" it was said with such anger that Sam actually stopped in the middle of sliding his jacket off.

"The library," he said simply.

"Oh really? Yeah, well I looked it up online and they closed almost two hours ago!"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Sam rushed, trying to think of an excuse.

"Did you know that I had a date tonight? But Dad went to a bar and he told me I wasn't allowed to leave the house until you came back! I had to cancel my date, because you were off doing God-knows-what!"

Sam winced. Though he did have to admire his brother's dedication. If it was him he would have just disobeyed John and left.

"Did you think I wouldn't be worried ? What was I supposed to do, Sam? Do you have any idea what kind of position you put me in? I couldn't leave in case you came home and I had no idea where you were. Dad has the 'pala anyway so I couldn't exactly go searching the streets! I was afraid to call the cops because we don't need them looking into us and I had Dad on my back about staying until you came home," Dean ranted on, showing no sign of stopping.

"I know, I'm sorry." He felt like a broken record, repeating the same apologies over and over again. "I lost track of time! I went to the…the…" but Dean saved him from having to think up an excuse.

"You know what? I don't want to hear it, Sam! I'm gonna go get a drink or something and you can blabber all the excuses you want to Dad when he comes-a-calling," Dean growled. He slipped on his shoes and grabbed his jacket then stepped out into the dark night without a single backward glance.

The slam of the door echoed around the now eerily quiet kitchen.

Sam just stared at the door with his mouth hanging open. Had that really just happened? Or was Sam in the middle of a very weird dream?

Frustration roared up in Sam. It wasn't his fault! What was he supposed to do? Go out there and get the shit beat out of him? Besides, Dean didn't even give him a chance to explain! What if he had had a good, legit reason? What if he had been beaten up in an alleyway and only just managed to stumble home? What if he was seriously hurt? What if he was dying right now while Dean was off drinking away his problems? It would serve Dean right, Sam though savagely. Who the hell was he to be scolding Sam about being late when he himself got home late all the time? It would serve him right if he got home and found out his little brother died because of his own frustration-caused inattentiveness. Sam almost considered sprawling out on the couch and waiting for Dean to get home then showing all of his injuries and claiming to have gotten them that night. Dean would be on his knees begging for forgiveness. But that's always how it was with Dean, wasn't it? He never thought before acting, always assuming there'd be a chance to make up for it later. Well maybe Sam wasn't hurt this time, but that didn't mean he'd never be. One day it was going to catch up to Dean and someone was going to have to pay for it.

Sam stormed down the hall, rage at his hypocritical older brother multiplying with every step. He threw his door open so hard the knob made a dent in the wall. Sam stormed over to his duffle and ripped his sketchpad out. He threw it onto the bed and flipped open to one of the first pages.

It was a drawing Sam had made a few years ago. It was based off a photo John had taken on Sam's tenth birthday. Dean stood next to Sam with his arm tossed casually over his little brother's shoulder. Both of them were wearing crappy, dollar store party hats. The cone shaped, polka dotted ones that had a few small pieces of sparkly ribbon coming out of the top. Sam was looking down a bit in embarrassment, though his eyes were on the camera. But Dean, Dean had his shit-eating grin plastered on his face with his eyes alight with joy. The drawing was one of Sam's favorite. He only had two drawings of Dean and him together. Mostly because they didn't take pictures and without a picture, he couldn't see himself therefore couldn't usually accurately draw himself.

Sam stared at the Dean in the picture for several minutes, taking in every tiny detail that he had spent so much time trying to draw right. Where had that Dean gone? Because he sure as hell wasn't the Dean who was yelling at him earlier without even listening to Sam's excuses. They both knew John would just drop the topic when he saw Sam was back and pretend it'd never happened. John was the kind of person, who if they didn't get the chance to yell at you immediately, then they'd rather not drag it up again. So there was no chance he be able to explain to anyone.

Sam ripped the paper from the pad and held it up close to his face for a minute. Feeling a stab of rage he brought his other hand up and grabbed onto the other corner. And just like that, Sam ripped the fruits of his labor into pieces. The result of hours of drawing, of staring at the original picture memorizing details, was torn into a small pile of pieces in a matter of seconds.

Then he stood up and glared around the room. He had to…to do something…anything.

And suddenly it hit Sam. He knew _exactly _what he needed to do. He reached down in between the mattresses and pulled out the silver knife. This time he'd do it right, no hiding in his room with tissues. He walked to the bathroom and held his wrist over the sink. The silver dug into his skin and crimson blood dripped onto the white porcelain then slide gracefully down to the drain.

It was beautiful and mesmerizing and…holy crap was that the door?

The knife crashed to the floor. Sam ripped toilet paper off and messily wrapped it around his wrist. He turned on the faucet and let it wash the blood down the drain. He threw the knife under the sink and dashed out into the hall, nearly running into Dean. Sam casually put his left wrist behind his back.

Sam looked up into the emerald eyes so like his own. And he saw regret and sorrow but not a single flicker of anger or hate. And just like that every single awful emotion in Sam fled.

"Sam…"

"Dean…"

"I'm…

"Yeah, me too."

"So…all good?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then…night."

"Night."

And with that tiny conversation consisting solely of fragmented words, the tension between them was over. It was how they always did it. The conversation could have been a big chick-flick moment, but that wasn't how the Winchesters rolled, well at least not Dean and John. So instead it was half-ass apologies and broken sentences.

Dean turned and slipped into his room leaving Sam standing alone in the hallway. He slowly turned and entered his own room. He stopped when he saw the ripped up remains of the photo.

How could he have thought such awful things of his brother? His brother who would do anything for him!

And before he knew what he was doing, tears were leaking out of his eyes, slipping down his cheeks. He fell sideways onto the bed and brought his knees up to his chest…God, had it only been that very morning when he had lain in the same exact position? It felt years away.

One of the rules of being a Winchester was don't cry – or more practically, never let anyone hear you crying. So Sam had learned to sob his eyes out without making a single noise. As he did at that moment. The salty tears fell to the pillow without a single noise from Sam himself.

"_Why aren't you fighting back, loser?" Mike asked as he threw a punch which landed painfully in the middle of Sam's chest. He couldn't fight back, didn't Mike get that? There was something holding him back, stopping him from defending himself from the torrent of blows. _

_He wasn't sure where he was. The ground was reddish-brown dirt and there were no trees or foliage at all as far as the eye could see. It was absolutely empty nothingness. _

_The next punch came from Blondie, forcing him to take a few steps back. Something crumbled behind him. Sam turned to see. A cliff – or the edge of a cliff as it was. There was no bottom, just endless blackness. Well wasn't that just a perfect cliché? _

_There was a kick to his shin and he fell face-forward with his ankles were hanging off the edge._

_Something cold wrapped around his foot and began to pull backwards. Sam scrambled for purchase on the flat ground. Red dirt got stuck under his fingernails as he dug them into the dirt. _

_His legs were over…_

_His stomach…_

_Sam screamed bloody murder as he was slowly dragged over the edge. Mike and his gang were gone somehow, leaving Sam left all alone in the vast emptiness. _

"_Help! Somebody help!" Sam screamed as loud as he could. _

_The only thing left above was his arms which were at a right angle with his body. Out of nowhere a hand wrapped around Sam's wrist. He was so surprised he almost jerked backwards and over the edge. He looked up into Dean's emerald eyes. _

_Dean began to pull him back up but suddenly stopped._

"_Dean…what a-are you…" Dean turned his wrist over to show what should have been two thin white lines. Instead, his entire wrist was covered in hundreds of small marks. _

"_What is this, Sam? What is this?" Dean demanded. _

"_Dean, I'm sorry, I just…pull me up and I'll explain…" Sam pleaded. _

"_No, Sam, why would I save a brother who's such a disgrace?" Dean asked like he was asking why two plus two was four. _

"_Dean, please…" _

"_Sorry, Sammy, you're just not worth it anymore," Dean said. He let go of Sam's skinny wrist. _

"_Dean, wait! Dean! DEAN!" Sam shouted as he went over, the edge of the cliff getting further and further away every minute. _

Sam jerked up so hard he practically folded himself in half. There were dry tears tracks down his cheeks and his hair was a disastrous mess. One thing was for sure, he wasn't going back to bed that night.

He grabbed a book and flicked on the bedside light, resigned to an entire night spent staring at the tiny words in front of him.

**Review Replies:**

**Cartoon Cow: **First off, good luck with your math test (though you'll probably have already taken it by now)! So Sammy managed to get away from the library, but wasn't much better at home I suppose. Anyway thanks and (just so you know) you were first reviewer for this chapter ;)

**Gord and V: **What did you think of the way I took it? The library wasn't going to be a huge player, more just a way to piss off Dean again. I should probably stop doing that…

**1xadzy3dgftw1xLSNx3dg1xMGG: **I know right? Normally Sam's all for normal, but now he's had enough! Glad you appreciated a more emotion oriented chapter. Exactly! Dean seems to think this whole protective brother thing is a one way street. But it's not so!

**judyann: **Aww, thank you! You will get big bro Dean back because I can't keep them at odds. Mostly I just meant he's gonna be a thorn in Sam's side a few more times before things get all cleared up (like this chappy!) Yeah, I got you guys all excited about adding the element of drawing for Sam then I just snatched it right away! Evil me :)

**OutTonightAndForever: **Don't worry, you're not the only one who's gotten behind on chapters. This was the first time I had a story entirely written beforehand so I've never updated this quickly before! Good to know you didn't stop reading. Did you enjoy another intense chapter? Unfortunately one side of Sam is starting to win that war and it's not the good side!

**Sammy4evacausehesawesome: **Love the name, just had to get that out there. Sam will eventually tell, but most likely not in the way you're expecting! What can I say, I like surprises! And yes, Dean will be kick some serious ass. :)

**I'm no lady: **Oh yes, there was a TON of planning that went into this story. I intentionally wrote it all ahead of time so I could go back and add other little plot lines and twists. Glad you like the angst/love balance. It bothers me when it's so chick-flicky all the time that it's unrealistic, but on the other hand, reading something that's entirely angst fest can be kind of depressing. It will indeed be a bit before John or Dean notice a problem and it's not going to happen in a way you would expect. Thank you for coming to my defense and I'm sorry to hear that someone manipulated your story like that :( I do know what you mean though. When someone makes a suggestion and it seems like a good idea so you feel obligated to work it in even if it totally changes the plot line because it was a good idea. ~Fuzzie (I so love that nickname)

**Supernaturalrenegade: **I completely understand, I've had to do that a few times myself. I'm going to admit I thought people would find that chapter boring which is mostly why I put the filler note at the top, so I'm quite glad you (along with quite a lot of others) said they enjoyed it! Yeah it's that time where you seriously just wish you were invisible! And John and Dean aren't helping! Hit the nail right on the head with the worse before better part.

**Hummingfox: **First – love your penname, I'm not quite sure why but I just adore it! I sent Sam your hug :) John isn't gonna play that much of a role in the final thing because frankly, I don't really like him or writing his character. It is easy to fall into this rough stuff. It's like a self-fulfilling prophecy almost. Once you start then everything just seems worse which makes you want to do it more. Anyway thanks for reviewing!

**MysteryMadchen: **I must say I enjoyed reading through your billion reviews this morning. Though rest assured you're not the only one who got behind. They'll find out soon, we're coming closer and closer to the climax of the story. Sam may end up in the hospital but not in the way you expect ;)

**where the wind blows, Sparkiebunny, sarah: **Thank you all, you guys are so awesome!


	12. Deserving A Break

**Thanks to my wonderful readers and please please REVIEW!**

**Warnings: Self harm, swearing and bullying  
>Disclaimer: See chapter 1<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Word count: 2,100<br>Chapter: 12/21  
>Next Update: Monday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 12: Deserving A Break**

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><p>"Damn, Sammy, you look like a friggin zombie!" Dean proclaimed as Sam walked in the next morning. Sam shot Dean the best glare he could create while still half asleep.<p>

"Boys, hurry up! Sam, you need to be to school in ten minutes and Dean, you need to be to work in fifteen. I have to meet Christian in half an hour and I'm not going to get there on time if you don't hurry your asses up!" John yelled.

John had to meet some hunter who lived nearby to talk about where they thought the werewolf was residing, but he needed the car so he'd agreed to give Sam and Dean a ride to school and work respectively.

Sam had to admit, he did look like some living dead creature that morning. After staying up all night there were dark circles under his eyes and his face was pale.

"I want you both back by four-thirty and not a minute later, you two are going to start training tonight," John said as they stepped into the car.

"Yessir," they both replied dutifully.

"Sam, once you get out of school for the day why don't you swing your ass over to the garage and we'll trek home together," Dean suggested.

"Yes," Sam said, a little too quickly judging by the surprised and slightly suspicious look on Dean's face. "That sounds good," Sam said at a regular pace to make up for his mistake.

"Did you hear that someone broke into the library?" Dean asked conversationally while leaning over the back of his seat to see his brother. If Sam had been eating he would have choked.

"W-what?" he stammered. Hopefully he heard wrong…because in reality it had been him that had left the library door unlocked.

"I know, right? I was like 'what the heck?' I mean seriously, what's to steal in a library?"

"Dean, they do have money at a library, you know. Donations and overdue fees and stuff," Sam said.

"Well, whatever. Apparently the woman who worked there that night forgot to lock the door or something-"

"They didn't fire her did they?" Sam demanded with wild eyes. If she was fired it be all his fault! He'd have to go and confess to sneaking into the library and…

"Geez, Sam, what'd you join the Campaign for Librarian Rights or something? Why do you care?"

"No," Sam, quickly looking out the window, "it's just…maybe the situation was out of her control…"

"Whatever you say…" Dean said slowly.

The entire day was much better than most of the previous ones. Sam not only managed to avoid Mike and his goons, but he also nailed his history project and got his first A+ of the year. A couple more like that and he'd have an A+ for the semester. Mrs. Chambers had caught up with him and asked him if he had thought more about the art show, which he replied that he was still unsure.

Sam had taken to carrying his sketchpad with him. Every once and a while Sam would get the desire to draw. And he clung to that feeling like a dying man. He wanted to draw…he wanted to _want_ to draw…and he wanted to have his sketchpad at the ready so whenever – and wherever – the desire to draw hit, he'd be able to use his talents to their fullest and enjoy it. In the pocket on the inside of the cover of his sketchpad, he had the pieces of the ripped up drawing as well as the flyer from the art show. It was like he was trying to convince himself that drawing was still important to him.

Once the final bell rang, Sam headed over to the garage, happy to know at least today, he'd make it home in one piece.

"Hey, Sam, give me five minutes," Dean said when Sam entered. Sam sat down in one of the padded waiting chairs for people to sit in while their car was being done. Dean finished ringing up the customer then punched out.

The walk was relatively silent, neither really sure what to say after all the awkwardness as of late. Dean was the first to break the silence with a less than pleasant question.

"Who are those dudes over there?" Sam followed Dean's view to see Mike, Stubble and Blondie standing around. Sam paled. They were waiting for him to walk past.

Well they'd just have to wait another day.

"Some morons from school," Sam said, trying not to let his bitterness show. The three just stared as Sam and Dean walked past, though Mike was obviously trying to size Dean up while giving Sam the Evil Eye.

After they were just past the three, Sam glanced back. Mike leaned forward and half-mouthed, half-whispered, "Got yourself a bodyguard, didya?" quietly so only Sam could hear. If Dean hadn't been there – which of course, if Dean wasn't there the situation would have been much different anyway – Sam would've given him the finger, but that would've drawn Dean's attention to the fact that Sam had a personal grievance with them.

Sam knew the next time he ran into them, he'd pay double, but for now he was fine and that was what mattered at the moment.

"So you ready for some training?" Dean asked as they neared the house. Sam groaned, having forgotten about training that afternoon. It was going to be much harder with his injuries. His cracked rib was still wrapped to the best of Sam's abilities, but who knew what hellish exercises John had in store.

"Hey, boys, get yourselves warmed up because we're starting as soon as possible," John said as soon as they walked through the door.

"Well nice to see you too," Dean said good-naturedly. Sam and Dean headed to their respective rooms to change and then started warming up their muscles.

Sam managed to make it through the push-ups without too much pain. He balanced his weight on his right arm, barely putting any on his left, so his wrist was only slightly throbbed. Curl-ups, however, were entirely different. Sam didn't even get through two before he was laying on the ground, panting while dark spots danced across his vision.

"Sam?" Dean's head appeared in front of Sam's line of sight. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

"Yeah, 'm just tired," Sam said.

"You did look awfully sleepy this morning," Dean agreed. Sam thanked whatever higher being was up there that Dean bought it due to his previous appearance that morning.

"Hold on, one sec, I'm going to talk to Dad," Dean said before disappearing from Sam's view. Sam felt a flare of annoyance. Of course Daddy's good little soldier couldn't do a single thing without Dad's permission.

But that wasn't really fair, Sam told himself, Dean was doing the right thing in the situation. John would know better, besides if Sam stopped training, even for an injury, without telling him he would be ten types of mad. Though on the other hand…would John really let him stop training just because he was tired? Dean didn't know the other problems.

Suddenly Sam wanted to know what they were saying. What where they saying about him? Were they saying he was weak for not being able to do it? Was Dean complaining that Sam now was not the little brother he had always loved? He had to know what they really thought.

Sam tentatively rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his knees. He crept over to the door and stood to right, so if the door did open, he'd be behind it. He pressed his ear up to the crack and closed his eyes, trying to picture the scene.

…just tired?" John was saying.

"I don't know, Dad, I'm really getting worried about him," Dean said sincerely.

_No don't say it, don't say it, _Sam prayed. _Don't tell him about the bloody nose…_

"Is there something you're not telling me?" it wasn't accusatory, more curious.

"Well…the other day…when I came home…"

"Dean," John warned him to get on with the point.

"Well remember that bruise on his nose? Well the night before when I got home, he had a bloody nose and I mean a _very_ bloody nose," Dean said, trying to get across just how bad it had been. "Like he was soaked in blood, Dad."

"Damnit, Dean! Why didn't you tell me?"

"If it was something really serious, he'd come to us, Dad, you know that."

"I'm not sure I do," John said curtly.

"Look, Sammy's waiting for me. I just wanted to let you know I don't want him training today-"

Sam could practically see John's face when Dean said that. His eyes would narrow and his lips would thin into a tiny line. He knew what Dean had said would irritate John even though in reality, it made sense. John had long ago given up the position of care-giver for Sam. If anyone should get final say whether Sam was in fit enough condition to train, it should be Dean.

"Dean, I am his father…" There was tense silence in which Dean and John would be staring at each other, trying to figure out how to prove their own point right.

"Well the weapons do need to be cleaned. Sam can do that today and that'll be good enough for now," John finally conceded.

For some reason, the thought of cleaning the weapons made him frustrated with them and himself. Oh, poor little Sammy who couldn't handle real training. Did they think he was too weak to do it or something? He could…but it'd take him longer because of the intense pain it caused in his chest. Why couldn't he be just a bit tougher like his brother? Dean never let any sign of pain past his infallible mask. He could tough it all out no matter how hard it was.

Sam only barely had enough time to leap out of the way and dash back outside before the door flew open and Dean walked out. Sam sat down in his position from before and watched as Dean came over to him.

"Well, Sammy, it's your lucky day!" Dean said cheerily. Sam knew it was just a façade. He was probably thinking how ashamed he was that his little brother couldn't handle a tiny bit of pain. "Dad says you can clean the weapons instead of physical training today, little bro!" Dean held out a hand and helped Sam to his feet.

Sam followed Dean like a dog on a leash into the living room.

"I'm gonna go finish outside, I'll be back in a bit," Dean said. Sam grabbed the various weapons and laid them out on the coffee table.

First he started with the various sawed-offs. It was slow work, but had to be done. Sam had to admit, he did feel better now that he wasn't doing physical work. He felt slightly guilty for thinking ill of Dean about it. Really, Dean just doing what he thought was in Sam's best interest.

Once the sawed-offs were done, Sam started in on the hand guns. They were simpler to do and Sam took much less time to get through them than the longer weapons. Next Sam started on the knives.

But there was still one missing from the bunch. That one was under the sink.

He'd have to go get it. If John or Dean came in and saw that one of the knives was mysteriously missing, there'd be too many questions.

Besides, he would only benefit from sharpening and cleaning his knife. It'd make things easier. Sam's eyes flickered over to the entrance to the kitchen in which he knew John was working on something in his journal. If he could just make it to the bathroom without drawing John's attention…

Sam gently got to his feet then slowly crept towards the bathroom. He stopped on the edge of the kitchen entrance. He just had to get past the doorway, after that it'd be a piece of cake.

"Sam, is that you?" John called. Sam closed his eyes and cursed himself.

"Yup, just going to the bathroom," he called.

"Alright, well hurry up on the weapons, I want them done before dinner at six thirty!" John replied. Sam melted with relief. He walked purposely down the hall, making sure not to sound like he was creeping about. He flicked on the light and closed the door. After silently counting to sixty seconds, he flushed the toilet and slipped the knife from under the sink and into the waistband of his pants. After washing his hands, Sam walked quickly back and set the knife down with the others.

Sam began systematically cleaning each one. Each blade sparkled with cleanliness and the edges were sharper than ever.

He'd have to do it again soon.

TBC…

**Review Replies: Sorry they're short, don't have much time at the moment. **

**supernaturalrenegade: **Glad you liked the last chapter, I'm quite happy with how it came out. Dean's sort of helping but not in the way Sam needs. And yes, John is such an ass. Decided it was time I wrote something where he was far more antagonist. Sam won't last much longer, I assure you :)

**jennytork: **The clue bus is just around the block, rest assured. Glad you liked it and thanks for reviewing!

**Cartoon Cow: **Did it go well? Is there a certain medium you like best? Thanks for reviewing!

**1xadzxy3dgftw1xLSNx3dg1xMGG: **Aww, that's so nice *Blushing* I know right? Got to be frustrating trying to protect someone who won't let you. I do so enjoy breaking my readers hearts :) Thanks for your awesome review and sorry I don't have more time to give a longer reply!

**NetMyne01: **I love that feeling too and I'm so happy that my story was one that made you take notice! I'll send Sam your hug! Thanks for reviewing!

**Hummingfox: **Well it certainly doesn't look good for poor Sammy! Dean and Sam's relationship is always so much fun to play with because they feel so guilty about anything they do to each other! Thanks!

**Gord and V: **Thanks. The tension between Sam and Dean is so much fun to play with because sometimes they really go at each other and then they feel all guilty.

**I'm no lady: **I'm not sure if you're reading this or not, but if you are I'm sorry you feel that you have to leave :( Thanks for your encouraging words and defense of me.

**Where the wind blows: **You didn't think I'd let Sam get by without a nightmare did you? Oh no, I'm way too mean for that! Anyway thanks!

**judyann: **I figured you'd be less than happy with Dean, but he'll be back to the brother we all know and love in due time. I love getting you readers all curious about events to come ;)

**Sammy4evacausehesawesome: **Who doesn't love kickass Dean? My muse controls me and I must obey, so I have no control over what poor Sam does unfortunately. Though my muse does enjoy revenge and nicely tied up endings so you do have that to look forward to!

**MysteryMadchen: **Oh, you're not the only one who's curious. It's fun to play with you guys a bit (all in good fun) and see where the readers think I'm gonna take it. More limp Sam to come, I promise (how can I not have more? I love limp Sam so dearly especially in teenchester form!)

**OutTonightAndForever: **That's one of my favorite lines too. It like represents the whole Winchester sappy moment rules. Aw, you're making me blush! Feel free to ramble, I quite enjoy reading it.

**Sparkiebunny: **Thanks!


	13. Stolen Dignity

**This chapter was actually originally planned to be somethign entirely diffrent, but I liked the idea when I thought of it the other day so I stuck with it. Thank you to all you amazing readers and please REVIEW!**

**Also, I posted a poll on my profile concerning my next story and I would love if you would pop over and take it! Thanks!**

**Warnings: Bullying, self-harm, swearing  
>Disclaimer: See chap 1<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Word Count: 2,200<br>Chapter: 13/21  
>Next Update: Wednesday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 13: Stolen Dignity**

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><p>Sam stepped out of the steamy shower. The upside to having gym last class of the day was that he could take a shower after without risking being late for his next class. He usually stayed last so he was the only one still in the locker room afterwards.<p>

When he stepped past the misty mirror, he did a double take. He looked like he hadn't slept in a year. He hadn't been sleeping quite as well as he would have hoped and was often felt drowsy in almost every class. The circles under his eyes were getting more noticeable to the point that if they got any darker, it'd would look like bruising. His skinny torso was mottled with bruises of various colors, though it was much better than it had originally been, and his wrist, though mostly faded, still had a few purple splotches here and there. The thin white lines along his wrist weren't too obvious unless you knew to look for them.

Sam stood there, staring fascinated at his bruised and beaten looking body in the mirror. He'd managed to avoid Mike and his goons very well. He hadn't seen them at all past the occasional dirty look in the hallway.

He suddenly realized that he was standing in the middle of the locker room wearing nothing but a towel and quickly took off for the rows and rows of grey lockers.

His locker was cracked slightly open as he approached. Another plus side of being the last was you didn't have to worry about locking your gym locker so Sam usually left it unlocked and sometimes open slightly. Not that Sam had anything worth stealing anyway.

Sam flicked open the small locker door and froze.

All of his clothes were gone.

Well crap.

There was no doubt in Sam's mind who it was. But that knowledge didn't really help him. After all, he didn't need to point fingers, what he needed was _clothes_.

He checked all around, just in case, though he knew they wouldn't be there. After checking under the bench, Sam went back to the showers to see if he'd brought them with him for some reason. When that too produced no results, Sam snagged an extra towel off the rack.

The lost and found was a three by three plywood box in the hallway between the girls and the boys changing rooms. With one towel around his waist and another towel tossed over his shoulders, Sam stepped up to it and began to rifle through it. There was one part-destroy and putrid sweatshirt – the owner of which was probably better off without it – several pairs of disgusting socks, a hat and an alarming amount of single shoes. How someone lost one shoe while doing gym class, Sam would never know. Over all, there was nothing useful.

Sam turned back to the locker room. He wanted to scream profanities to the Heavens and go on a rampage, destroying everything in his path, but managed to reign in his temper. He needed to do something useful.

Sam sighed and re-fastened the towel tighter around his waist. He drew the other towel around his shoulders in tighter so it covered almost all of his torso but the very bottom of his stomach. As long as he used his injured wrist to hold the top towel closed, thus hiding it, you would say he was completely healthy, injury-free boy.

The way he saw it, he had two options. He could either walk home like this or he could call Dean for a ride. There was absolutely no contest.

He did one final check of the area before once again stepping out into the hallway. This time, he went straight across to the coach's office. He knocked hard on the door but there was no answer.

"Coach Woods?" Sam asked as he peeked in. Coach Woods was gone so Sam went in all the way and picked up the phone. He felt bad for going in without permission but he needed to call Dean. Since he was at work, he wouldn't have his cell phone on him since the mechanics were supposed to leave them in the locker room so they didn't cause a distraction or get damaged. So Sam racked his brain and finally managed to recall the number of the garage.

"Rocco's Mechanics," said a chipper sounding girl.

"Um, hello, is Dean Miller there?"

"Sure, sweetie, let me get him." The sound of the phone being set down could be heard before very distant sounding shouting. Sam bristled slightly at being called sweetie, but brushed it off. Now was not the time.

"Dean Miller," Dean drawled.

"Uh, hi, Dean," Sam said in a small voice.

"Sam? Is everything all right?" Dean said, instantly sounding more alert. Sam could practically see his brother suddenly standing up straight, holidng onto the phone tighter in worry.

"Yeah, Dean, but, um…is there any chance you could give me a ride home?"

"You're still at school?"

"Yeah, well, I stayed after gym to take a shower then I got…delayed."

"Alright, well I get off my shift in ten minutes, so I'll just leave now and be there in a few." Dean said.

"Okay, oh and Dean? Can you pick me up in the back parking lot? The one by the track?"

"Uh, yeah, Sam, sure, if that's what you want."

"Thanks," Sam said quietly before going to hang up.

"Sam, wait!"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure everything's okay?" Dean asked worriedly.

Sam nodded then realized Dean couldn't see him so said a quick yes before hanging up. That did bring a new question into light though. What was he going to tell Dean when Dean showed up and found him donning only a towel?

He took a deep breath then pushed open the small door at the end of the gym hallway that lead to the back of the school where the football field, track (which looped around the football field) and the baseball diamond were. The cold air hit him in a rush and he had to stop for a minute. Sam closed his eyes against the sharp sting. He pulled the towels on tighter and continued onward.

The asphalt crunched under his bare feet as he walked across to sit on the bleachers to wait. The cold of the metal managed to reach Sam even through the towel as he sat down. If he wasn't injured and only wearing a towel, he might have started running to keep warm.

Of all the exercises, Sam liked running the best. Mostly because it gave him a few minutes to himself to sort through his thoughts.

Sam heard the black muscle car long before he saw it. Dean roared around the corner, going far faster than one should in a school zone. The car pulled to a stop in front of him and Dean's window rolled down. Dean was sitting there, holding his sunglasses just above his eyes with his mouth hanging slightly open.

"Are you wearing a _towel?_"

"Two towels, actually," Sam said as he went around and slid into the passenger side.

"Any particular reason why? Or am I just seriously not up to date on high school fashion?"

"My other clothes accidentally got all wet," Sam lied.

"Why aren't they with you?"

"I left them in my locker to dry out. I'd hate to get water all over the leather interior," Sam said.

"Yeah." Did he know how to play his brother or did he know how to play his brother? All he had to do was say he had done it for the impala and Dean would be behind him one hundred percent. "Well don't let it happen again," Dean said as he put the car in gear.

Sam nodded and leaned back in the seat, letting the heat wash over him. Suddenly Sam was afraid to be alone with his brother. Not because he thought Dean would do anything, but because in a car there was nowhere for him to go; no excuses to make should Dean bring up a subject Sam wanted to avoid. And lately, there were several topics Sam would rather steer clear of.

Sam had never been claustrophobic, but the car suddenly felt ten times smaller and it became a bit harder to breathe. He looked out the window, willing some of the vast space out there to come in the car. Sam pressed his forehead against the window and closed his eyes.

"You okay?" Dean asked instantly. Sam mentally berated himself for letting his mask slip even a bit before thinking of an excuse.

"Tired," Sam mumbled. How many times had he used that in the last few days alone? It was Wednesday, three days since the training incident on Sunday. Ever since then Dean had been watching him like a hawk, just waiting for him to make a mistake so Dean could call him out on it and finally get the whole story. In truth, Sam didn't even know the whole story. He couldn't say when this whole mess started. When he'd first taken his emotions out on his wrist? Or when he was attacked the worst by Mike? Or when he lost the shoes? Or maybe even when they first arrived at the town?

Thankfully, Sam looked just as tired as he claimed to be so Dean bought it every time. He'd started sleeping less and less each night. And the precious few hours he did manage to grab were restless and full of awful dreams. Part of him was intentionally keeping him awake to prevent himself from having a nightmare. Sam feared that one of these days he'd actually cry out enough when he jerked awake to wake Dean as well.

Nothing else was said until they pulled up in the drive way.

"Be quiet when you go in, last I knew Dad was crashed on the couch because he stayed up all night talking to Caleb and Bobby about some creature or other," Dean said as he got out. He was completely oblivious to the fact that on the other side of the car, Sam was greedily sucking in gasps of air.

True to Dean's word, John was completely conked out on the couch and they entered silently.

"After you get changed do you want to watch TV in Dad's room?" John's room contained a small TV that was barely a foot wide and only got about five channels, but John was taking up the living room where the normal sized TV was.

The thought of spending even more one on one time with Dean was enough to send Sam running in the other direction.

When had that happened? Sam had always loved every moment spent with his brother, even if they were just bickering. But lately, that, like everything else, was quickly changing for the worse.

"No thanks, I got a huge project to do."

"Another one? Do you ever do anything else at that nut house?"

"It's a school, Dean, of course there are projects," Sam said, mildly annoyed.

"Yeah, well, too many in my opinion," Dean said as he grabbed himself a beer.

"To you any work is too much work," Sam said as he went down the hall into his own room. He pulled on some sweats and a too-large t-shirt then flopped onto the bed.

It was his routine now. Once he got home from school, he'd lay on his bed and just rest. Not sleep, not nap, _rest_ – rebuilding energy without relinquishing control of his mind. Then he'd do his homework followed by dinner. After that, he'd watch some TV before heading to his room. He'd read for a bit then indulge in his secret pleasure. Dean must have said something to their Dad about training because John hadn't brought it up again. After that, Sam would lay in bed for hours staring at the ceiling both trying to succumb to and prevent going to sleep at the same time.

Strange how normal it sounded to him now. Before this town, it was homework, draw, dinner, TV, more drawing, then bed. But that was BeforeSam. He was NewSam now. That's not to say he was happy with he was becoming. No, quite the opposite actually. He was becoming more and more disgusted with himself. Disgusted at himself for lacking the will to draw, for thinking ill of Dean, for lying so much, but most importantly, he hated his secret relief. Hated and loved it at the same time.

Because Sam really need _more_ confusion in his life.

Not.

**Review Replies: Sorry they're short, I don't have much time at the moment.**

**Judyann: **Well glad you enjoy it, because I fully intend to play with you guys more! Soon, I assure you, soon Dean will find out.

**Cartoon Cow: **Dean does have lovely hair. Probably my favorite type of hair, second only to Sammy hair. :)

**Sarah: **It's true, but sadly, Dean will not always be there for our Sam :( Thank _you_ for reading!

**Supernaturalrenegade: **I'll leave it up to you to decided if it was a red herring or not. :) It will indeed get worse before it gets better.

**Sammy4evacausehesawesome: **It'll be a while before Dean gives those jerks whats coming to them, just so you know. A few more chapters before Dean even figures out something major is going on. Thanks for reviewing!

**Casammy: **Holy crap! I would love to spend more time replying this but I only have a few minutes so sadly I can only give something small. Let me just say, I totally agree with pretty much everything you said. Dean will always be there for Sammy. It may be Dean's job to take care of Sam but he obviously loves doing it! Thanks for the amazing review and hope your weekend was good!

**Hummingfox: **Sam may be a hunter, but under it all he's just a kid. And I really couldn't bring myself to go this whole story without giving Sammy a single break. Oh and if you'd like, we can say the librarian was not fired. :)

**OutTonightAndForever: **So glad to know someone picks up on those little lines! Sam's warring with himself quite a bit, sadly. Oh and if it makes you feel better, let's just say the librarian was not fired.

**1xadzy3dgftw1xLSNx3dg1xMGG: **Calm before the storm indeed :) So I guess this chapter is dark clouds rolling on. Not storming yet, but it's right on the horizon!

**Sparkiebunny, LeighAnnWallace: **Thanks guys, you make me feel so happy :P

Also, **Tin Tin 11**: Where'd you go?


	14. Pushed Too Far

**Even just the chapter title is ominous this time! Giving me shivers! And it really doesn't bode well for Sam does it? **

**Warnings: Bullying, self-harm, swearing  
>Disclaimer: See chap 1<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Word Count: 2,000<br>Chapter: 14/21  
>Next Update: Friday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 14: Pushed Too Far**

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><p>When Sam awoke in a foul mood, he just knew that it would be a bad day. He wasn't sure what told him so; it was just a gut feeling. And, as a hunter, he'd been trained to always listen to his gut.<p>

He'd gotten dressed as always and only spent a moment to wonder on why none of the usual morning noises were coming from Dean's room. Dean was noisy in everything he did, even getting dressed, but that morning Sam couldn't hear a peep. He brushed it from his mind as he walked quickly down the hallway.

The first thing that caught his eye in the kitchen was a small square piece of paper sitting on the kitchen table.

_Sam,_

_Sorry, car emergency – had to go into work early. You'll have to walk._

_~Dean_

Sam read over the note several times before it actually sunk in. He glanced over to the clock – twenty minutes until school started. Twenty minutes to complete a usually half hour plus a bit walk? Had it really been such an emergency that Dean hadn't even had the time to wake him up? Anger welled up in Sam. That was just like Dean to leave a note and think naught of any other consequences his actions might have. What did he care if Sam got in trouble for being late _again?_ Why would it matter to him that Sam was very quickly moving to the top of Mr. Newman's most hated students list? And that was definitely not a place one wanted to be, as Mr. Newman could be incredibly strict, sometimes to the point of being downright mean.

This wasn't helping.

Sam took a few deep breaths before grabbing his school stuff and setting off. He walked very quickly and kept checking his watch like time would suddenly jump ahead if he didn't check it every minute. He was running out of time. Had he remembered his homework? Did he print out his project for science? What if he hadn't brought his homework and Mr. Newman started really hating him? What if he got detention? What if-

Sam stopped his increasingly paranoid thoughts. It wasn't helping anyone, least of all Sam. He calmly told himself that he had in fact gathered all the necessary school supplies the night before, as he usually did.

He'd be fine…just so long as he made it to school on time.

Sam was just about to resort to running when the school came into view. He sighed and started to relax until he heard the first bell ring. Immediately, Sam began sprinting, his backpack bouncing against his back in time with his feet on the pavement. The second bell rang just as he neared the school doors. He was late.

That was just great.

Sam slowed down as he entered the school, he didn't need to get in even _more_ trouble by getting caught running in the halls. He jogged up the stairs and rounded a corner before coming to a stop in front of Mr. Newman's class room. He gently pushed it open and held his breath, preparing for the worst.

"Samuel!" Sam cringed. Yup, Samuel never meant anything good was coming.

"It's Sam," Sam snapped before he even registered what he'd done. Both Mr. Newman and Sam's eyes flew open, but Mr. Newman did it out of anger, while Sam was just surprised with himself.

"What did you say?"

"I prefer Sam, is all," Sam said lightly, trying to seem harmless.

"Yes, well, _Samuel_, I prefer students to be on time to my class but it seems I don't get what I want either now do I?"

"Sorry, Sir, it won't happen again," Sam said, wishing he could just sink into the floor.

"I highly doubt that," he said coldly, "Now take a seat." Sam hastened to obey and nearly tripped over himself in his rush.

"Pass forward your homework," he called. Sam felt a rush of relief. Good thing he'd taken care of it last night or he'd never have remembered.

After turning in their homework, they all worked on a vocab activity while Mr. Newman graded their homework.

For once Sam felt confident that his homework was as good as it got. He'd worked extra hard on it in an attempt to make Mr. Newman like him a bit more. There was nothing worse than going to a class with someone who not only held a large amount of power over you, but hated you as well. Besides an A+, at least a 97, on that homework would pull his overall class grade up to an A.

"Five minutes left, class, everyone pass forward your papers while I pass back homework," he said as he went around handing out papers. When he stopped in front of Sam, Sam was filled with a sense of foreboding. Mr. Newman dropped the paper on Sam's desk with an icy smile before moving on. Sam slowly flipped over his paper to look at the grade.

96.

An A.

Most people would be more than satisfied with a ninety-six, but Sam had really wanted at least a ninety-seven to pull his semester grade up to an A. What had he done wrong? He'd spent so much time on that one sheet of paper he couldn't possibly imagine what he'd gotten wrong.

He scanned down the paper until he came across red ink. In a messy scrawl, it said '-4 points, Don't be late again.'

Sam looked up to see Mr. Newman, who had finished handing out papers, staring right at him. As much as Sam wanted an A+, a 96 wouldn't have bothered himnearly as much if it was what he earned. If he had made mistakes, he only had himself to blame. But that wasn't his fault. That was just his teacher being a jerk. He could have just given Sam detention or something. There was no need to take it out on his perfectly executed homework. He would have gotten a perfect 100 if Mr. Newman hadn't decided to be an ass and take four points off for something completely unrelated to the homework!

If he was in a bad mood when he woke up than he was in a downright foul mood by then. When the bell rang, Sam stood up quickly as exited with a glare. He stormed down the hallway feeling rage boil up inside of him.

He saw Mike, Stubble and Blondie standing by a locker, seemingly waiting for someone. Sam just wasn't in the mood that day. He was just going to ignore them…no matter what they said, he'd ignore them. He closed his eyes as he passed, praying they'd let him go just once.

"Hey, Samantha!" Mike called once Sam was a few feet past him. Sam's eyes flew open. That was too close to home. It had never really bothered Sam when Dean called him Samantha, just as it had never really bothered him when Dean called him Sammy (no matter how much Sam protested otherwise.) But it was much different coming from Mike's dirty mouth. Like soiling something secret between Sam and Dean only.

"What do you want?" Sam snarled.

"Well see I've got some homework that needs doing and I need someone to do it."

"No way in Hell," Sam said instantly. What did they think he was? Their personal nerd? Sam rolled his eyes before turning away from them.

"Hey, shit-head, don't you turn your back on me!" He yelled, grabbing forcefully onto Sam's shoulder.

Sam wasn't sure why he did it. He should have thought about the consequences, but he didn't. He should have thought about what Dean and John would say, but he didn't. Sam was just so pissed about Mr. Newman and his already bad mood was quickly getting worse and that was just the spark on the rocket.

Sam whipped around and decked Mike right in the face.

The force knocked Mike back causing him to stumble into a locker. Several of the nearby students stopped to look and a few even began cheering Sam on.

Stubble and Blondie were on him almost instantly, but Sam held them back with a punch to the stomach each. Suddenly people were patting Sam on the back and someone shot a hand out and raised Sam's wrist above the crowd like he was a returning hero. Apparently Sam wasn't the only one who was sick of Mike.

The cheering crowd died down all of a sudden and people started parting to let someone through.

Sam looked up right into the face of Mr. Newman.

"Come with me, Samuel," he said curtly before turning. Sam was tempted to say no way in Hell again, but managed to refrain himself. He was already screwed, no need to make things worse.

Sam quietly followed Mr. Newman to the principal's office where he was instructed to wait. Sam sat down in one of the chairs in the hallway and wondered what was going to happen. He felt like a little kid in trouble for throwing dirt at someone on the playground. Only at that age, they'd just say don't do that and move on.

"Sam, can you come in here for a moment?" the principal said. The principal, Mr. Burke, was a tall, skinny man with black hair and brown eyes. He was the type of principal everyone liked who was all about school spirit and didn't go around snapping at students. "Please have a seat." Sam sat down in one of the two chairs across from Mr. Burke, the other chair being occupied by Mr. Newman.

"In your words, Sam, what happened?"

"Um, well…um…" Honestly, Sam wasn't quite sure what had happened. All his rage had just boiled over and he'd lashed out at the nearest person. It was all kind of a blur to Sam.

"Sam?" Mr. Burke prodded.

"He provoked me, Sir, and I haven't been having a great day and I just sort of lashed out," Sam said, settling on the truth. "I really didn't mean anything by it."

"I'm sure you didn't, but, Sam, this school doesn't tolerate fighting at all," Mr. Burke said, though his tone was gentle.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Sir, I'm not sure what came over me."

"You're father has been called and should be here soon. I can tell this isn't typical behavior for you, Sam. Almost all of your teachers have said nothing but good stuff about you and you're still relatively new to our school, so I'm going to be a bit more lenient than I normally am when it comes to fighting. I'm going to give you a two day suspension, and seeing as tomorrow is Friday, we'll start it next Monday, okay? That way you can have tomorrow to catch up with your teachers and get any work you'll miss. You're excused from the rest of today as well."

"Thank you, Sir."

"We all have bad days," Mr. Burke said with a wink.

"What? That's it? A two day suspension? Sir, I implore you to reconsider!" Mr. Newman cried in outrage.

"I'm quite satisfied with the punishment, Mr. Newman. Besides, I'm sure Sam's parents will have more to say on the subject anyway. Please return to your class," Mr. Burke said, dismissing the history teacher. Mr. Newman glowered for a minute before stalking out of the room.

"Sam, you're welcome to wait for your father in the hallway," Mr. Burke said. Sam nodded silently and got up. Once in the hallway, he sat in the same seat as before and prepared himself.

Sam would take Mr. Newman any day over the wrath of a very pissed off John Winchester.

TBC…

**P.S. I don't know exactly what would be reasonable or unreasonable in this situation for punishment, but I believe a 2 day suspension is what you get at our school plus it worked with my timeline so whatever *shrug***

**Review Replies: **

**Cartoon Cow: **Congrats, first again! I agree, Sam's hair was better before he got rid of the bangs, made him look younger and more adorable!

**Tripoli: **Yeah, I know, Dean would probably have demanded something a long time ago, but I needed it to be like this, so let's just say Dean's hurt-little-bro radar needs a new battery! It'll kick in soon though, once I get a chance to swing by the guilt-trip hardware store ;)

**1axzdyz3dgftw1xLSNx3dg1xMGG: **I know what you mean about this making you sad sometimes. I have to make sure I'm in the right mood to write this or it'll seem to peppy for Sam's current emotional level.

**Judyann: **Are you psychic or something? You were indeed right that the next chapter would not be good for Sam. He's finally had it!

**OutTonightAndForever: **I agree, I hate when people just suddenly have their characters totally switch moods without leading up to it – drives me crazy! Unfortunately, it's gonna get worse between Sam and Dean :(

**Sammy4evacausehesawesome: **Aww, you made me smile so much! But, sadly, no I don't have a book out, though I am working very very hard to remedy that situation so maybe in a few years! Not too much longer, I promise, just a chapter or two. As you can tell by this chapter Sam won't last much longer as this rate.

**Gord and V: **Totally, the prank sounds funny until it happens to you. Then it's totally demoralizing. Dean won't take too much more, but he won't find out in a way you're expecting ;)

**Hummingfox: **Sam will spill his secrets, but it might not be Dean who makes him ;) You're just gonna have to wait to see. But, no, it won't end well for Sam either way.

**TinTin11: **Don't worry about it, I know what you mean. We lost power for a bit and had some minor flooding from Irene so I totally understand. Thank you for taking the time to go back and review!

**LeighAnnWallace,** **sarah, Sparkiebunny **(thanks for letting me know about TinTin11) **: Thanks guys!**


	15. This Is How A Heart Breaks

**This is another one of my favorite chapters. Hope you all enjoy this as much as I do!**

**Now on a more serious note, there are a few things I need to say.**

**Suggestions are okay, but this is MY story, and this one in particular has already been mapped out, so don't expect them to be used unless I feel they really benefit the plot. This story, like all my others, is mine. And, this is going to sound strange, but I've put a ton of time and effort into each (even if it doesn't always seem like it) and I'm protective of them. They are my ideas and will stay that way. I wrote this story all by myself (I'm a big girl now!). I'm not pointing fingers (I'm not solely talking about this story either), I'm just trying to say this for general purpose.**

**And that leads me to the second topic I wanted to cover. Flames. I've only gotten a few, some on this story, some on others, but that doesn't mean they don't hurt. If you seriously didn't like it that much, tell me WHY. Don't rip into to me and say I'm a crappy writer. Tell me that my characters are too OOC for you, or it's just not your style. Or that I need to work on this or that. Don't just say you hate it and leave it there. If you think my story is a waste of your time, for God's sake don't read it! I'm not forcing it on anyone. I'm not demanding you all read my story or perish. Just because you didn't like a story doesn't mean you have to attack the person behind it. It's natural that people will disagree on stuff. **

**I am a writer. I take my writing very seriously, fanfiction or original. I try very hard to approach stories with open-mindedness and the author with respect. It's not always easy to put something up here. You're exposing your talents to the world. And if you're immediately ripped into and tore down, you won't do it again. Too many amazing writers have been lost like that. Reader encouragement and interest is what keeps me, and many authors, going. I read every single review I get on every story and cherish them all. Whether it's one or thirty, I'm always happy to hear from a reader as long as you're reasonable about it. Flames benefit no one. Again, not to point fingers or anything, I just really wanted to get this all out there.**

**Now that that mile long serious crap is over, onto the chapter!**

**Warnings: Bullying, self-harm, swearing  
>Disclaimer: See chap 1<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Word Count: 3,000<br>Chapter: 15/21  
>Next Update: Sunday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 15: This Is How A Heart Breaks**

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><p>Sam slowly swung his feet back and forth as he waited for John to come. This was going to be bad. This was going to be very, very bad. John would be here soon and would no doubt rip him a new one.<p>

"What the hell is going on?" Someone shouted from the secretary's desk around the corner. Sam groaned and drop his head into his hands. That was John making all the noise, there was no doubt about it.

"Sam!" John yelled as he rounded the corner and caught sight of Sam sitting dejectedly in the chair.

Sam immediately stood obediently but before he could get to his dad and usher him out, Mr. Burke came up behind him.

"Mr. Miller? Can I speak with you privately in my office, please?" Sam sat back down in the chair, sinking further into it as John shot him a look as he passed.

Sam hated waiting. It was so…uncertain. Sam liked to have all the facts and know all the details so nothing came as a surprise. Waiting meant you didn't know the facts…you were in fact, waiting for the facts.

The door swung open and John stepped out. The devil himself wouldn't want to approach John at that moment. Anger just radiated off him and Sam had to give Mr. Burke props for willingly staying alone in a small room with John.

"Car. Now." John said gruffly. Sam stood obediently and followed his dad out the door. No one said anything as they quickly crossed the parking lot and got in car.

Sam had never thought silence could be deafening. That was just something they said in books because it was hard to describe silence. But at that moment, he realized silence could be very deafening. Sam felt like the silence was pressing in on him from all sides, preventing him from saying something and breaking it.

He once again felt like the car was far too small. It was getting harder to breathe with the oppressive silence and tight car… Sam prayed John wouldn't start a fight in the car because he'd have no chance of defending himself when he could barely breathe.

He cast a wary eye over to his father, but John was just staring ahead determinedly, daring any cars to get in the way and face his anger.

Finally they pulled up to the house and got out of the car. Sam wanted to stand there and gulp in great gasps of air. But, not wanting to tick John off further, he hurried after his father.

Once inside, John immediately headed for the fridge. Sam was beginning to get nervous. With John, silence wasn't usually a good thing. He stood by the doorway fidgeting anxiously. Surely John would have something to say…he wouldn't just let him go like that…Sam didn't want to stay, but feared leaving the room wouldn't go over with John very well.

John sat down, beer in hand, and stared at the wood surface of the table like it had all the answers. The irrational desire to grab the beer and throw it at the wall while demanding John say something swept over Sam and he found his finger jumping forward slightly.

"Um, Dad?" he asked quietly, wondering if he was waking the sleeping bear.

"What were you thinking?" John asked, dangerously quiet.

"I don't know…I didn't really mean to-"

"Yeah, but you did."

"I know, Sir, and I'm sorry, I promise it won't happen again.

"Oh well just so long as you _promise_," John said mockingly. For some reason, those few words caused a flare of anger in Sam. What did John want from him anyway?

"Well, what do you want me to say?" Sam demanded.

"Explain to me what you were thinking that you would go and do something so stupid, something so _selfish_-"

"What are you talking about? It wasn't selfish! It may not have been the right thing to do, but it wasn't selfish," Sam snarled.

"Oh, really? First of all, you interrupted my work and made me go down there to get you. And secondly, you intentionally did something that you knew would drag attention to our family. What if they tried to look up past school records to see if you get into fights a lot and for some mysterious reason Sam Miller has never been to school before? You risked everything just to take a swing at some guy!"

"Look, it was wrong of me. I didn't mean to and I apologize for apparently causing you _such_ turmoil. Furthermore, I _assure_," Sam purposefully avoided the word promise, "you that it won't happen again. Is that good enough for you?" Sam spat.

"Don't you take that tone with me! I-" Sam didn't stay to listen. He spun on his heel and stormed down the hall into his room. He slammed the door, then opened it and slammed it harder just for effect. He kicked his nightstand before collapsing down on the bed on his back.

It hadn't actually been that bad, really. He'd been expecting John to rant and rave for hours on end, but he'd gotten out of there before he could. At the same time, Sam knew he'd only made things worse by fighting back and eventually leaving. He would have done better to just stand there and take it all without fighting back.

Sam hadn't realized he was tired, but his suddenly drooping eyes told otherwise. Sam let them slide closed and drifted off.

Sam jerked awake when the front door slammed. He was grateful for the nightmare free sleep, whether it was two hours or two weeks.

Sam pushed himself up and walked quietly over to the door to listen. He wasn't sure if the door was John leaving or Dean coming. Sam wasn't sure which was better.

"Hey…didn't realize…home…" Sam only managed to hear snippets of what Dean said. Sam knew John would tell him about what happened and Sam wanted to hear. For starters he had to know how much Dean would be told so he knew how to react in response, and it also gave him the opportunity to defend himself should John phrase something unfairly.

He crept down the hall and stopped just to the left of the kitchen doorway.

"…something wrong?" Dean was asking.

"Sam was suspended," John said bluntly. Sam could just picture the shock on Dean's face. Sam-loves-school-a-lot-Winchester got suspended? No!

"Why?"

"Got into a fight," John said and Sam could practically _hear_ the eye roll that accompanied that statement.

"Sam did? Wow, uh, that's not like him at all. Is he okay?" Sam wanted to hiss that he could damn well take care of himself, thank you very much.

"Yup."

"So how long's he suspended for?"

"Two days starting on Monday. He's supposed to go in tomorrow to get his homework and stuff."

"Oh, um, okay then." Dean said. Sam could hear his sock feet padding across the floor, giving him just enough time to dash into his room. He laid down on his bed and dragged his schoolwork to him. Sam could hear Dean come down the hallway and stop in front of his door, but Dean seemed to change his mind as he went into his own room after a minute.

After looking down at his homework Sam realized that he'd screwed up every answer he'd written so far. Perhaps he'd wait a bit to do his homework.

The only other thing he could do without leaving the confinement of his own room was draw, so draw he would. But as he'd been finding recently drawing just wasn't exciting anymore. It didn't calm his emotions or help him relax in general, it was just something that took a long time and never came out right anyway.

Sam dragged a box out from under his bed and set it down on top of the old blue comforter. Inside the box were all his old sketchpads, some were filled and others had just been forgotten when he'd gotten lucky enough to find a new pad on sale somewhere.

He dumped all the sketchpads out on to the bed and began to flip through them randomly. The pages in some of the older ones were yellowing from months of disuse while other, newer ones, still had empty pages in the back that looked crisp and new, just waiting for someone to create a masterpiece on them. The drawings were reflections of another time. Times of tiny Christmas trees and times of root beer floats at local diners. Times of Dean's devilish grins of the curious eyes of an animal spotted. He traced his finger over the lines so perfectly executed to show something that had once meant something to him. It felt so foreign, like it was someone else's work. The person who had spent hours poring over the pictures had long ago disappeared in a new town of misery.

Sam longed to be that person again, someone who could get relief out of simply drawing the simple things in life; someone who could always find good in the bad, even if he griped about it sometimes. But he'd given up being that person in light of a new hobby.

A salty tear splashed down on the comforter making a tiny circle of darker color. Blinking rapidly, Sam closed the old sketchpads and tucked them away in their box which he slid back under the bed.

The rest of the night passed in homework and lying on the bed just staring at the ceiling. When Dean called dinner, Sam replied he wasn't hungry. Dean didn't bother coming to investigate. He had probably figured out by now that his little brother was getting seriously fucked up.

After getting into his pajamas, Sam still didn't do anything but lie on the bed staring at the ceiling, just letting his mind go blank. It was a nice feeling, to just relax. Sam briefly wondered if he should start meditating daily.

Around nine o' clock, there was a soft knock on the door, pulling Sam back to reality.

"It's me," Dean said softly.

"Come in," Sam said quietly.

"Hey," Dean said as he came in and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to Sam.

"Hey."

"So, Dad told me about what happened today," Dean started.

"I assumed," Sam said, leaving out the fact that he'd eavesdropped on that very conversation.

"So you wanna tell me what really happened?"

"What?" Sam asked, mildly surprised.

"You seriously expect me to believe you were just walking down the hall and decided to punch someone? I know you better than that," Dean said. When Sam still didn't give up any information, Dean gently nudged his brother's shoulder to try and get him to talk.

"I don't know, I just lost, I guess," Sam said tiredly.

"What made you lose it?"

"It's nothing, really, I was just…well…my teacher was being an ass then the guy was being a jerk in the hall and…yeah," Sam finished with a shrug.

"And I probably wasn't helping things," Dean said with a knowing-smirk. "Seriously, though, Sam, I'm sorry I've been such a bastard lately." Sam wanted to moan that Dean had been everything but. He'd stuck by Sam even though Sam was starting to avoid Dean like the plague. He was yet to call surrender and walk away saying Sam was too much work.

"The job at the garage is hard and the boss is a jerk but I shouldn't have let it come out on you and for that I'm sorry." That only made Sam feel guilty. Of course Dean had his own problems, but you didn't see him running around punching people and making everyone worry…God, Sam really _was_ selfish!

And suddenly everything just seemed so ridiculously overwhelming. Despite every Winchester front Sam put up, he was still just a boy who, at the moment, just wanted his brother and the comfort Dean supplied.

Tears were suddenly spilling down Sam's cheek and before he knew it he was practically sobbing, albeit silently, but sobbing nonetheless.

"Sammy?" Dean asked in concerned surprise. An arm slid around Sam's shoulder, pulling him closer. "What's wrong?" Dean asked almost desperately. Sam was the only person for whom Dean would let down his mask. Sam didn't deserve him. And Dean deserved a little brother who was so much better.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" Sam found himself muttering over and over. He didn't know what he was apologizing for. For crying? For being weak? For being a crappy brother? For murdering Dean's only chance at normal all those years ago? There was so much to be sorry for.

"For what, Sam, for what?" Dean asked, sounding borderline panic now. Dean's desperate tone sobered Sam immediately. What was he doing, crying all over like that? That was just going to worry Dean more! And then Dean would try and dig deeper into the reasons that Sam was upset. Sam pulled away from Dean and began rubbing the tears from his cheeks.

"You okay?" Dean asked, seeing Sam trying to compose himself.

There was one thing Dean tried to avoid at all costs, and that was the dreaded emotional moment. And Sam was going to use that to his advantage.

"Yeah, well you know, someone's got be the girl in the family," Sam joked. If he could steer Dean into the land of light teasing and mockery, then Dean wouldn't try to make things serious. Dean would engage in a chick flick moment if it was started already and he was truly concerned, but he'd never, _never, _start one.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, clearly grateful for the change to humor, "we'll have to start calling you Samantha," he joked.

Sam froze.

"W-what did you say?" Sam asked.

"I was just saying we'd have to start calling you Samantha," Dean said slowly, clearly not sure why Sam was offended when Sam had dismissed it every other time.

And just like that the room seemed far too small and Dean was far too close and…it was overwhelming. It was like he was back there again. Adrenaline coursing through his veins; blood rushing in his ears; emotions overflowing.

"Don't call me that," Sam snapped, trying hard not to start screaming right there.

"I…what?" Dean asked, bewildered by the sudden change of events

"Can you please, just…go," Sam said with his eyes closed.

"I…if you're sure," Dean said slowly. Sam wasn't listening anymore, in fact, he wasn't even in the room mentally. He was in the hallway in the school. Mike stood looming before him, taunting him as Samantha while the crowd of students laughed at him. They were closing in on him…they were too close…he couldn't breathe! And somewhere in the background, perhaps even in his own head, was Dean unleashing his own hell upon Sam. "You're such a girl, Samantha! Grow up! I could never want you for a brother because you're so. Damn. Weak."

"Sammy?" Sam opened his eyes. Dean was standing at the end of the bed looking panicked while Sam had somehow managed to slide himself back against the wall. His hands were wrapped tightly in his hair pulling almost to the point of ripping it out. What was Dean doing here? Why bother pretending to care? He didn't and Sam wouldn't let himself be fooled any longer.

"Get out!" Sam screamed, pelting Dean with a pillow for good measure. Dean now looked down right terrified.

"I…okay…but, Sam," he said, stopping half way through the door, "we're not done this conversation."

The sound of the door shutting snapped Sam out of his daze.

"Well crap."

TBC…

**Review Replies**

**Cartoon Cow: **Well, it's kind of a combination of both, really. For this story in particular I planned every chapter out in Word ahead of time then wrote it all on the comp before I started posting. But usually I write it on paper and on the computer and usually have about half written before I start then make it up as I go.

**Judyann: **Not done with Sam or the principal? Big bro Dean tried to come out…but sadly he was quickly rebuked by a panicky Sam…he'll try again though!

**Gord and V: **It was indeed a car Dean worked on. I really just needed an excuse to make Sam walk to school. Was John's reaction all you hoped?

**OutTonightAndForever: **Ooh, that's so sweet! You're right Sam is not going to like the consequences. Did Friday come fast enough?

**Anonymous: **Glad you liked Newman, makes me happy to know my readers feel for my characters! And it's my pleasure!

**Supernaturalrenegade: **First off thank you for defending me. I value loyalty pretty much above all else and that just made me swell with happiness. I guess Dean got your shake because he tired to talk to Sam, but…sigh. By the way, little dude? LOVE the nickname.

**Hummingfox: **Who says it's gonna be John either ;) I have a few tricks up my sleeve coming! Only barely saw your review before posting so I guess it's a good thing I checked my email! Mr. Newman is an ass, I totally agree!

**LeighAnnWallace, Caz21, TinTin11, Sparkiebunny, jennytork: **Thanks guys! Hope you all enjoy this chapter just as much!


	16. Dog In The Headlights

**Hey guys! This is the chapter most of you have been waiting for. All of you who've been trying to guess how Dean and John find out (oh, how I loved messing with you with ominous hints that got you nowhere) this will give you your answers. **

**Also, thank you guys so much for the reviews! You floored me this last chapter! Keep it up, they make me so ridiculously happy!**

**Sorry it's short, but know that I was tempted to leave it where the *** are and that would have been much worse (well, for you anyway)**

**There's also another little hint of something supernatural going on in this chapter, let me know if you spot it ;)**

**Warnings: Bullying, self-harm, swearing  
>Disclaimer: See chap 1<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Word Count: 1,600<br>Chapter: 16/21  
>Next Update: Tuesday<strong>

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 16: Dog In The Headlights**

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><p>Rain splashed against the windshield as the wipers tried desperately to keep up.<p>

The car ride was beyond awkward. Dean and Sam hadn't said a single word all day to each other. Sam was beyond embarrassed about his lit tantrum the previous night and Dean was still unsure how Sam was feeling about him at the moment.

It was Friday afternoon and Dean was driving them to the house for the weekend. John had asked Dean to pick Sam up so they'd both be home early to do some training. Sam stared out the window, watching the rain splatter on the sidewalk chasing all but the most adventurous people indoors.

Two weeks. It'd been two weeks since they'd gotten to this town, the town the changed everything. Who knew such a small town could have such a big impact on the life of one person? It was like he was an entirely different person. Sam didn't like this new person. He was sad and tired and so damn lonely _all_ the time. He'd given up trying to force himself to draw. It was a dying ember in him now. A dying ember that was quickly being extinguished by the desire to cut.

"Sam, we have to talk."

"Dean-"

"No, Sam, no more excuses. No more avoiding the conversation. Something's up with you, probably has been for a while, and I need to know what."

It was inevitable. Sam knew this conversation would have to happen, but that didn't mean he wasn't nervous. For the first time ever, Sam felt like a stranger to his brother. Really, Dean didn't know all that much about him, he still knew more than anyone else, but still… It made Sam wonder just how well he actually knew Dean.

"Sammy, please," Dean was practically begging at that point, "_please,_ tell me what's going on! You promised you would come to me if you needed help-"

"And I don't so I haven't," Sam replied curtly.

"Sammy," Dean whispered so quietly Sam had to strain to hear his brother. Sam's eyes involuntarily slid over to his brother.

Dean had a death grip on the steering wheel and his body was tense. His eyes were glittering with a mysterious moisture…there was no way…Dean? Crying?

"Dean?" Sam said quietly. He wanted to throw himself at his brother. He wanted to go back a few years when Sam was innocent and oblivious to the world of evil that surrounded him. Back when his biggest problem was a nightmare and that could easily be solved by slipping into bed next to his brother who'd throw his arm around Sam and they'd just lay there, calming each other. Sam wanted to go back to the times when that was all it took, just a little big brother medicine and the world's problems were solved, at least for Sam.

But not anymore. Now Sam lived in a harsh world with no big brother medicine. And really, he had no one to blame but himself. He had dug himself into a hole and left his shovel at the top. The longer he avoided telling Dean about Mike, the harder it'd be to do it. Because then Dean would ask why he hadn't come before. And that would break Dean's trust in Sam to always come to him with his problems. And if Dean found out about his new habit…Dean would be so disgusted…he'd want nothing to do with his little brother. Sam fiercely told himself no, Dean would always love him, but there was still that tiny corner of his mind that held all his self-doubt which assured him that Dean wouldn't like him anymore. After all, who'd want a needy, selfish little brother who couldn't even handle everyday problems without turning it into some huge drama fest? God, he was pathetic.

"-listening?"

"What?" Sam asked as he pulled himself back to the now, where his brother was asking him something.

"I'll take that as a no, you weren't listening then," Dean said with a slight chuckle, though it lacked his usual mirth.

"Sorry, I was distracted, what were you saying?"

"Distracted? By what? There a certain someone I need to know about, Sam?" Dean joked.

"Shut up," Sam said quietly, turning to look back out the window.

"But seriously Sammy..."

Suddenly something caught Sam's eye. Dean was lost in whatever he was saying and didn't notice Sam or what had caught Sam's attention. As the muscle car had crested a hill, the headlights danced across an electrical wire which had shoes hanging from it…very familiar shoes. Dean was going to see his sneakers hanging from the wire!

Sam began to panic, they were still a little ways away…Dean wouldn't notice until they were a bit closer…Sam just had to distract him for the few seconds it took to pass the wire. Sam could hear his heart pounding in his chest, beating out a staccato rhythm. Just as they got close enough for the details of the shoes to come clearer into view, Sam shot his hand out the left, very nearly whacking Dean in the arm.

"Look!" Sam cried. Exactly as planned, Dean's head whipped around to look where Sam had pointed.

"What? I don't see anything!" Dean said, sounding almost desperate.

"I could have sworn I saw something!" Sam said before letting his eyes drift back over to the shoes. He jolted back in alarm.

"Dean, look out!" Sam screamed. A large, scruffy brown dog had streaked in front of the car and now stood frozen as the huge car sped towards it.

Dean jerked back to face the road and his eyes widened at the sight before.

"Shit!" he shouted as he spun the wheel.

Sam was thrown up against the window as the car lurched to the left.

"Look out! Look out!" Sam shouted but it was too late. The front of the large car slammed into the base of the very pole from which the shoes hung.

Sam's head slammed against the window and he knew no more.

When Sam's eyes flickered open it was to the all too familiar scene of a hospital ceiling. The smell of antiseptic was strong in the air and the mattress was hard. Sam started to sit up but the motion made his head spin. Instead he looked around while still lying down. It was a relatively small room with the usual white walls. The only splash of color was the light pink curtains hanging on either side of the two windows. There were a few cabinets along the wall opposite Sam but other than that the room was empty except for the two beds. The beds were more like tall cots than true hospital beds because they were clearly only meant for temporary usage; for patients who'd be released in a few hours. Sam's eyes eventually found Dean lying next to him, still unconscious, on the other bed. Immediately Sam did a visual sweep of Dean, trying to ascertain how hurt his older brother was.

Besides being slightly pale, Dean looked relatively unhurt. In fact, Sam would have said he was sleeping if not for the small square of gauze on his forehead. Sam brought his hand up to the side of his own forehead and also felt soft gauze there. Based on his headache, Sam deduced it was a slight concussion.

This was Sam's fault. If Sam hadn't drawn Dean's attention from the road then Dean wouldn't have missed the dog and they wouldn't be in this mess. The only relief Sam could find was in knowing neither of them was hurt terribly and the car couldn't be that bad either.

It could have been so much worse.

Dean made a small noise than shifted slightly on the bed.

"Dean?" Sam asked gently, trying to help pull his brother towards awareness. Dean groaned and his face scrunched up a bit like it usually did right before he awoke. One of these days Sam was going to take a picture of that face and show Dean his very own bitch face.

"Sammy," Dean mumbled under his breath before he even opened his eyes. Sam felt something swell inside him. Even after everything Sam was still the first thing Dean always thought of.

Dean's eyes slid open and then he blinked a few times before realization spread across his face. Dean's looked over the room, unknowingly copying his little brother's movements, before his eyes finally settled on Sam.

"Hey."

"Hi," Sam said with a small smile. Sam watched as Dean looked him up and down checking for injuries just as Sam had done to Dean not two minutes previous.

"Just a minor concussion, I think" Sam supplied.

"Same here."

"We were lucky."

"Yeah." It was strange, you'd think that after years of hunting the Winchesters would be used to near death experiences, but every time it still blew away Sam. It was strange to think that he could very well have been dead at that moment. Life could have stopped for him. There would be no more Sam Winchester. He would have never have found out how the crazy story called his life turned out. Just the very thought floored him every time.

"What about the car?" Sam asked, hoping he'd been right in his assumption that it wasn't too bad. They were so dead if it had been badly damaged. John would be pissed, no _beyond_ pissed at Sam.

"Probably not much more than a dented hood and maybe a cracked windshield. It's not like we were going that fast," Dean said with a shrug.

"Dad's still gonna be pissed though," Sam said nervously. What horrible punishment would he come up with? He was already mad at Sam before, Sam hated to think how he'd be now.

"We're going to be in for some serious ass-kicking. Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but lo and behold, asses will be kicked in four score," Dean said, trying to sound wise.

"Four score is eighty years, Dean."

"Oh…I knew that."

TBC…

**Last Chapter Review Replies:**

**LeighAnnWallace: **Well thank you! I'm glad you feel that way.

**supernaturalrenegade: **Lucifer, I know right? Just like John to shove poor Sam aside. The worse is yet to come, well actually this chapter was kind of the worst, then I might actually let things get a bit better for Sammy! I try not to work too hard, I mean then I wouldn't have energy to write! ;)

**jennytork: **I think the clue bus just ran into Dean ;) There, now he can finally start to know what's wrong! Woo! Glad you enjoyed the flashback, they typically cause me trouble!

**Cartoon Cow: **That's all good, sometimes you just laugh. It just happens sometimes :)

**Gord and V: **It's sad that that is what we expect from John…I felt John wouldn't chase after Sam just to yell at him more at the moment. I do that all the time when I'm upset, like a rollercoaster of emotions!

**Hummingfox: **Well there, this chapter gave you the answers. I don't think it'll take you long to figure things out from here. It wasn't Bobby or Caleb, though those were both interesting guesses. That's Dean for you, even if he doesn't know exactly what's wrong, he's not gonna let little Sammy suffer!

**TinTin11: **So did this chapter live up to it's pre-assigned title of fabulous? Dean will finally get a bit more clued in soon, thankfully.

**LisaRosa: **Thanks! Flames will be used for smores in the future! Sorry to hear about the bullying, it's an all too real situation for a lot of people sadly. But you (people in general, not just you) keep going, you know? Keep fighting and it'll get better. :)

**judyann: **I couldn't agree more. Don't read something you don't like just so you can attack the writer personally. Anyway, thanks a bunch! But you know our Dean, he'll get some hope in Sam if it's the last thing he does!

**D767468: **Exactly, I totally agree. Well thank you for reading! A story wouldn't be a story without someone to read it!

**Elric2007: **Aww, thank you! For me, updating this fast is really quick, just ask someone whose read my older stories and they'll tell you I'm awful about updating! Sometimes it's a whole week between updates!

**Alex Kerr: **Was that soon enough for you? I typically do everyother day (for this story, other one's are a whole different story!) I do enjoy insightful reviews, so I look forward to it! This will be 21 chapters, but you're gonna have to wait a bit for it to get there ;)

**Sparkiebunny, Sarah, jwinchesterkent, phyllis16: **Thanks, you guys totally rock!


	17. A Broken Hallelujah

**Hey guys! Sorry about the lateness of the hour (though I suppose it's really early in the mornign for some of you!) I've had a majorly busy day! **

**The title of the chapter comes from the song by Rufus Wainwright and no, I don't own it. **

**Also, there's an online pole thing going about what TV show will be most popular Friday night show for various times. Supernatural has been nominated for the 9 o'clock slot but sadly, last I checked it's losing by just a bit to Fringe! Go take it and show that snooty author (who clearly does not like SPN based on his comment about J&J) what for!  
><strong>**http(colon)(slash)(slash)www(dot)tvline(dot)com(slash)2011(slash)09(slash)fall-tv-poll-what-will-you-watch-friday(slash)**

**Warnings: Bullying, self-harm, swearing  
>Disclaimer: See chap 1<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Word Count: 2,000<br>Chapter: 17/21  
>Next Update: Thursday<strong>

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 17: A Broken Hallelujah**

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><p>Dr. Larrow was a doctor probably in his forties with a friendly face and warm smile. He had brown hair that had a few bits of grey in it and was the type of hair that was just naturally messy looking. He wasn't tall, but he wasn't short, just like he wasn't fat but he wasn't skinny. He was just an average guy.<p>

He knocked on Sam and Dean's door before entering and then genuinely smiled at them both. Sam wasn't sure why but he liked this guy, almost to the point of trusting him. He seemed…fatherly. He most likely had at least one child, probably a son.

"Well it's good to see you two are awake." Sam gave a small nod. "You must be Sam? "the doctor asked. Some of the confusion must have shown on Sam's face because the doctor added, "We found your school ID in your pocket."

"So what's the diagnosis?" Dean asked, impatient to know when he could leave. Sam recognized it in Dean as that was exactly what he was feeling, though he was too polite to be rude to a stranger like that. It was just a general rule, Winchesters and hospitals didn't mix.

"Well, both of you have minor concussions. Dean, you received three stitches to your head while, Sam, you got four. Pretty basic stuff. I can prescribe you some medication for the headache you'll have for a bit and then you're free to go, just so long as you make sure to get some rest."

"So we can go?" Dean clarified while he sat up and slowly swung his feet over the edge of the bed. A slightly troubled look crossed the doctor's face that made Sam feel slightly nervous.

"I'll give you the prescription in a little bit then you're free to go, but first I need to talk to Sam. Dean, if you'd be so kind as to wait in the hall?" Dean shot a look at Sam that clearly said what-the-hell. Sam didn't know what the doctor was talking about either, but if he thought Dean should leave then it couldn't be good.

"Anything you have to say to my brother, you can say in front of me," Dean said with conviction.

"I'll leave that decision up to Sam. Would you like your brother to stay or go?" Sam was torn. If it was something that serious, then maybe Dean should go so Sam could have some time to absorb the information before facing Dean. But then again, if it was something that serious, Sam might want Dean to be there to provide moral support. Sam was about to run his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, when it hit him.

His arm! The scars! Surely someone would have noticed the self-inflicted scars! It was wonder he wasn't already locked up in the psych ward.

Dean would be told, he had no doubt, but perhaps it'd be easier if he didn't find out while Sam was right there. That would give both Sam and Dean time to collect their thoughts before they had to face each other.

"Um, Dean, could you please wait in the hall?" Sam asked quietly, wanting to just disappear. He didn't want to have this conversation, especially not with some stranger. He'd spent far too much time constructing his web of lies to have it all be ruined by a stupid car crash and a nosy doctor.

Ignoring the hurt and worried look on Dean's face, Sam looked directly at the doctor. In the background, Dean slipped out the door and it clicked quietly behind him. Dr. Larrow took a seat on the now vacated bed next to Sam.

"So, Sam, how are you feeling?" he asked casually like they were old friends who hadn't seen each other in a while. Sam wished he'd look away. The doctor's piercing blue eyes made Sam feel like he was being x-rayed.

"Fine," he said lightly. He wasn't going to spill his guts to some random doctor. Dr. Larrow was completely undeterred and continued on, either oblivious or willingly ignoring Sam's obvious hesitancy to have the conversation.

"I take it you've figured out why we're having this conversation?"

Dr. Larrow confused Sam. There was a smile on his face, but it didn't seem fake, despite the serious conversation topic. He was both professional and casual at the same time and he seemed to truly care. But that was absolutely ludicrous. Why would he care about Sam? Why would anyone care about Sam?

Sam nodded just in case the doctor wasn't actually talking about his arms. No need to give himself away if it was something else entirely. It was a small ray of hope perhaps, but Sam clung to it desperately.

"We actually have several things I need to discuss with you. Let's start with the marks on your arms which are obviously self-inflicted…" Consider that ray extinguished.

"Would you mind telling me why you did that?" the doctor prompted when Sam didn't offer up any information.

"Aren't you supposed to call in a therapist or something?" Sam questioned. If he could get the doctor to leave to get a therapist, Sam could bolt with Dean.

"Technically yes, but I need to discuss some other injuries with you that I think might be connected so I thought I'd give it a try while I was here."

"Other injuries?" Of course, how had he possibly thought they wouldn't notice the half healed rib and the still somewhat visible bruises?

"You have a hairline fracture in your seventh rib down on the left side. The seventh rib and the tenth rib are most commonly fractured by sometime of direct blow…" he trailed off, clearly expecting Sam to provide an explanation.

"I got into a fight."

"I assumed as much based on the light bruising on your chest as well. This fight happened a couple days ago correct?"

"Last Friday."

"And did you tell your family you were injured?" Sam hesitated. He was trapped. When Sam had first been brought in, they would have looked up his records to see for recent injuries, especially for something like a broken rib which could have been jarred in the crash and caused more serious damage. If Sam said yes, he had told his dad, the doctor would wonder why his dad hadn't brought him in and then Dr. Larrow might come to the wrong conclusions, perhaps thinking John was an irresponsible parent. But if Sam said no, that would also bring up questions as to why. Most children would tell their parents if they were injured to the extent of a broken bone. The doctor was good, Sam had to give him that. He'd made Sam agree to knowing about the rib, unknowingly cornering himself.

Clearly Sam's hesitation was enough for Dr. Larrow to make his own conclusions as he asked, "and why not?"

"I didn't want to get into trouble." Sam knew he'd screwed up. He'd said it too quickly, rushing to explain, an obvious sign of a lie.

"Uh huh, and who did you get into a fight with?"

"Just another kid."

"Did you start it?" Sam had had enough.

"Look," he shouted as he leapt to his feet, "none of this matters. Yes, I got into a fight with another kid. Yes, I self-harmed. No, I didn't tell my family. And none of it is any of your damn business. I don't know why you act like you care, but stop it. Now I do believe you mentioned a prescription for headaches, so why don't you just give that to my brother and ship me off to the psych ward or whatever so I can get on with my life."

Dr. Larrow didn't look very surprised but there was pity in his eyes which made Sam want to smack him. Sam didn't need pity. He wasn't some defenseless little kid.

The doctor slowly got to his feet looking like he'd aged a couple of years just sitting there.

"We've called your father, he should be here soon. Once he gets here, I'll inform him and your brother of the situation at the same time and let your father decided whether he'd like to set up an appointment with the hospital's counselor or a personal one. Until then, I want you to stay here. I'll send your brother in."

"Wait!" Sam called. "Are you going to-"

"As a doctor it is my job to tell them of your injuries, all of them," he added as Sam began to protest, "it is not, however, my job to inform them of where they came from." Sam wasn't stupid and he knew the doctor wasn't either. He had surely figured out that Sam hadn't willingly participated in the 'fight' that had resulted in a broken rib. But he was going to leave it up to Sam to explain the how and why behind his injuries.

Sam glared at the man's back as he left the room then fell back onto the bed. He stretched out and waited for Dean to come in. The door opened shortly after and Dean came in, still wearing a confused expression.

"What was that about? I could swear I could hear shouting coming from in here."

"You'll find out when Dad gets here," Sam said, sounding somewhat ominous.

"Okay," Dean said slowly. He walked up to the bed and looked over Sam as though Dean was a doctor and Sam was his patient.

"How bad is it, Doc?" Sam asked, sound fake frightened.

"With some hard work and intense care, you may pull through yet, Son," Dean said seriously. After a minute they both just burst out laughing. It felt natural to Sam, laughing with his brother. It was like jumping back a few weeks to when things were simpler.

They laughed for almost ten minutes straight. When one of them finally managed to recover, they'd take one look at the other one and start laughing all over again. It was contagious.

"Scoot over," Dean said once he sobered up a bit. After Sam complied, Dean laid down next to him and tucked his hands behind his head. Sam was once again looking at the ceiling and Dean followed his gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see Dean's eyebrows furrow thoughtfully.

"They could seriously use a more interesting looking roof, huh?"

TBC...

**Review Replies:**

**Cartoon Cow: **Unfortunately I can't tell you, though it'll come out soon enough, just hang on!

**jennytork: **Lol, oh yeah! Well, I'm glad, it's nice to know my writing can get a physical response from some people.

**D767468: **Perhaps it's the dog, perhaps not, unfortunately I can't tell you, but it'll be revealed soon enough. One more level of angst ;) No prob about the anonymous!

**TinTin11: **Nice to know you have such high expectations for my chapters! I certainly hope they all deliver!

**Nyx Ro: **I know right? Makes you realize just how bad things were getting, huh? Yes, Sammy will be 'lifted'

**Judyann: **yay! Curveball! Yup, finally the big brother shines through! Yeah, I figured Sammy kinda deserves a break by now, so I think I'll refrain from torturing him too greatly anymore. Not to say there won't be a few angst fests…

**Supernaturalrenegade: **I totally know what you mean. I hate that stupid security word, sometimes I just can't tell! You're barking up the right tree on the refrence, you'll see for sure in one of the last chapters. Hopefully this chapter answered some of those questions!

**LisaRosa: **I know! I've thought about that so much! And then I always wonder if it's just me and they're actually there because in some stories they do have seatbelts and others not, so I tried to kind of leave it open for interpretation but I agree that you never SEE seatbelts on the show.

**Hummingfox: **Indeed :)

**Alex Karr: **Thank you for picking up on the scary reality of a situation like this! Once you start it's hard to stop! Thanks!

**OutTonightAndForever**: Don't worry about not reviewing, it happens. I love curveballs!

**Fledgingfeathers: **I'm with you all the way so don't feel bad for liking hurt Sammy. I think it's really just the chick flick moments that come after that we all love really. He is a jerkwad!

**Sparkiebunny, sarah, Tripoli, Twi-girl 56: **Thanks!


	18. Mending the Bridge

**Hey guys! So here's the next chapter. The next chapter will kind of be like an extension of this in a way. I didn't address all the emotions present in this chapter, but rest assured, I'm not leaving the Dean-explosion we know is coming out!**

**Warnings: Bullying, self-harm, swearing  
>Disclaimer: See chap 1<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Word Count: 2,100<br>Chapter: 18/21  
>Next Update: Sunday (Yup, a day later than usual, I got a busy weekend coming!)<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 18: Mending the Bridge**

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><p>He could hear them coming. In fact, someone four states over could probably hear them they were being so loud. But then again, Dean was never one to let his presence in a room go unnoticed.<p>

"Shouldn't we-"

"No, Dean, later. Now we just need to get him out," John said in a clipped tone. Sam could tell they were right outside the door now.

Sure enough the hospital room door swung open a few seconds later, exactly as expected.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said brightly as he walked in.

But Sam could see through the façade easily. There was no doubt in Sam's mind that Dean was feeling less than happy. Dean had to be at least disturbed to find out that his little brother was self-harming. In fact, it was most likely beyond anything Dean had suspected might be going on with his little brother.

"Ready to bust out of here?" Dean asked dramatically like they were planning a prison break. Sam only managed a small nod while his eyes strayed to John who was still standing silently by the door with a confused look on his face.

"The doctor's off trying to get a hold of a therapist," John said quietly.

Sam swung his knees over the side of the bed and took a moment to make the room stop spinning. Dean's hand appeared on his shoulder, a steady rock to lean on. Since they were still wearing the clothes in which they had been brought in, it was fairly simple to get out. Sam and Dean just kept their heads down, lest any of the doctors recognize them and know they weren't supposed to be leaving.

No words were exchanged at all during the car ride letting a tense silence settle in the air. John stared out at the empty road while Sam pretended he couldn't see the glances Dean kept shooting him.

Ever since Sam had seen the dog in front of the car, there was something nagging him in the back of his head but he couldn't place it. But then, staring out at the window it came to him so fast he nearly gasped. Of course! It was _the_ dog! The one from his drawing! It seemed so long since he'd seen the dog, like it was in an entirely different lifetime. But what was the dog doing here? It was way too coincidental…

"Sam," Dean said, drawing Sam's attention out of his musings.

"Yeah?"

"I asked what you wanted for dinner?"

"Oh. Whatever," Sam said quietly. Now that they knew, there was no reason was to keep up a happy pretense. Sam wanted to draw his knees up to his chest and sink into the seat, but he kept his feet firmly on the ground.

"Sammy…" Dean said, clearly picking up on the desolate tone.

"I'm fine, Dean." He wasn't. And they both knew it. Sam wanted to break down and cry. His carefully constructed web of lies was crashing down.

No one said anything else the entire car ride. And even then the only words spoken were by John telling them both to get some rest before dinner, after all they both did have concussions.

While Sam laid in bed, a wave of loneliness washed over him. What would happen to him? Would they not want? Would they see the burden he was? Now that they finally knew he was so worried about their reactions that it was a physical pain.

It was really more out of instinct then anything, but Sam found himself stumbling into Dean's room during the early hours of the morning. Dean was fast asleep and Sam envied his nightmare free rest.

Sam stood a few feet away from the bed, tears sliding down his cheeks, and he felt emotion well up in him. It broke forth from his lips in the form of a small cry. Ears trained from years of big brother-ing picked it up even in sleep and Dean blearily opened his eyes.

"Sammy?" he asked sleepily. Sam made no move to leave or go closer, just stood there like a crying statue. Dean swung his legs over and sat up while rubbing his eyes like a little kid. "What's wrong, little bro?" Dean stuck a hand out and Sam found his feet bringing him forward. They didn't stop until he was sitting on the bed besides Dean, wrapped tightly in caring arms with his head to Dean's chest. He could feel the cold of the amulet against his cheek.

"Sam-"

"I know you know, Dean, don't pretend you don't," Sam choked out.

"What I don't know is why, Sammy, why?" Dean pleaded, sounding almost teary himself.

"It was so hard, _too_ hard," Sam said despondently.

"What was?" Dean asked softly.

"Everything." Sam nestled closer to Dean.

"Okay, ya want to elaborate a bit on that?"

"No." Dean snickered slightly.

"Sam," he said in all seriousness, "this is some pretty heavy stuff. I mean, self-harm?" Sam said nothing just remained leaning on Dean, smelling old leather and aftershave with every inhale.

"Why? Sam, why? You owe me that much."

Dean was right, of course. Sam did owe him that much. After everything, after weeks of giving him the run around and hours of lying to him, Sam owed him the truth. Dean had been the one constant in Sam's life and he deserved Sam's honesty.

"The fighting…we were fighting all the time…you and me, me and dad, everyone…and…and there's this…kid…at school…" Sam hoped to God that Dean understood because Sam couldn't say the word bullying…he just couldn't. It sounded so childish…and most certainly not something a Winchester would say.

Sam felt Dean stiffen against him, could visualize the way his eyes would narrow as he figured out what Sam wasn't saying.

After a few moments of tense silence, Dean finally said, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sam mumbled something inaudibly as he pressed himself further into Dean's chest, suddenly wanting anything but to tell the truth.

"How about you repeat that so someone besides my shirt can hear?"

"I didn't want to seem weak," Sam whispered fearfully like he was admitting to some great sin.

"What?" Dean asked sharply. Sam immediately assumed Dean was mad at him for being weak; for ruining the Winchester name.

"It doesn't really matter," he said quickly, eyes going slightly wide. Dean brought his hands up from Sam's lower back and braced them on Sam's shoulder, forcing the younger boy back a bit so Dean could see his face.

"It damn well _does_ matter, Sammy! You're not weak, and they don't make you weak. You're strong, damn strong. You kick evil ass and I always know you have my back," Dean said, looking Sam right in the eyes.

Sam gave a tiny, almost imperceptible, nod. Dean offered him a small smile in return. Suddenly Dean shifted back so he was leaning against the head board with Sam now more on the bed with his head still on Dean's chest.

"So why don't you tell me what really happened, start to finish, no half-truths either." Sam could hear Dean's heart beating and feel the tiny vibrations as he talked and it lulled him into relaxation.

_This _was how it should be. No lying, no fighting and certainly no self-harm. Just two brothers.

Sam found himself talking about how lonely it was at school without friends and how Mike had immediately singled him out. He spoke of Dean's taken shoes and Dean began cursing up a storm which was followed by apologies for being 'such a shitty brother'. Sam brushed them off, saying how they were unnecessary and how he hadn't really given Dean much reason to think someone had forced the shoes from Sam.

The next thing Sam talked about was the attack while he was walking home and Dean caught on immediately, remembering the bloody nose. Sam saw the hurt look in Dean's eyes when he realized that Sam had so blatantly lied right to his face about being injured and Sam tried to placate him with softly muttered apologies.

Sam then proceeded on with the bacon fiasco and both brothers had a good laugh when Sam told of his would-be umbrella attack on a cat. Dean was there, with every emotion Sam had felt. Dean would tense when Sam talked of Mike, ruffle Sam's hair when Sam made some small crack at Dean, and curse those who wronged him.

Almost everything wove its way into the tale, playing some role in Sam's spiral. He even mentioned Mr. Newman. There were only two things Sam had intentionally avoided telling Dean. The first one was about seeing the shoes on the lamppost. It was Sam's fault they crashed and he didn't want Dean to be mad at him, not when they were having such a special moment.

The other thing was drawing. Sam still felt the same way he had always felt about keeping his drawing a secret. It was still weak and it was still girly. Besides, it's not like he could draw anymore anyway, so why bring it up?

"So it was this Mike guy that you punched?"

"Yeah," Sam said softly, feeling tired and drained after telling it all.

"Can I ask why you freaked out on me that night?"

"You called me Samantha," Sam murmured, his eyes half closed, content to fall asleep right on Dean.

"So? I call you that all the time? It's like calling you bitch but playing it off your name. You never freaked before."

"Yeah, but that's what _he_ called me," Sam said drowsily.

"Who? Mike?"

"Mmhm, that's why I punched him, he called me Samantha in the hall."

"That's m'boy," Dean said messing up Sam's hair. "Don't ever take any shit from anyone, least of all the likes of them."

There was another silence as Dean absorbed the new information and Sam fell asleep.

"Sam?" Dean asked. If Sam hadn't been laying on Dean and hadn't felt his chest vibrate, he probably would have been too close to sleep to know Dean had spoken.

"Mm?"

"The sit-ups…"

"What?" Sam asked, opening his eyes and tilting his head back so he could see Dean.

"When we were training and we were doing sit-ups and you…it wasn't because you were tired was it? It was because you were hurting wasn't it?" Dean sounded sad.

Sam let his eyes drift back to half mass as he rested his head against Dean's chest again. "Yeah. But I was tired too."

"Why?"

"Nightmares," Sam said with a small shrug.

"Why…why didn't you come to me?"

"Didn't want to wake you, didn't want you to think I was a baby."

"Sam, you can't control nightmares. They just happen."

"I know, but you don't get nightmares. It wasn't even about something supernatural, it was just about stupid Mike," Sam knew he was sounding like a little child, but at that moment he couldn't have cared less.

"Sam, Sometimes taking care of you and looking out for you isn't easy. But it will always be my favorite job, the one I take most seriously and have the most pride in. Because without you, Sammy, I just…I don't know. There wouldn't be anything good in this world without you-"

"Dean-"

"No, Sam, let me finish. If nightmares are part of the deal, then they're part of the deal. You're my bro, I'll take you for you. Besides, when you crawl into bed next to me after a nightmare and I know that I'm the only one whom you trust with your nightmares; that I'm the only one who can make you feel better after one…that is the most amazing feeling ever."

"Really?" Sam asked while tipping his head back so he could see if Dean was lying.

"Absolutely." There wasn't a single trace of a lie on Dean's face and Sam couldn't help but believe him.

"Okay."

Suddenly Dean grabbed Sam's shoulders again and pushed him back. A shred of doubt crossed Sam's mind and he wondered worriedly what Dean was going to do. Had he had enough? Would he send Sam back to his room saying he'd changed his mind?

Faster than Sam would have said it was possible, Dean yanked Sam forward into a bear hug. His strong arms encompassed Sam completely. And after a few minutes Sam felt warm tear drops landing on his head.

The one thing Sam had never factored into the equation was how knowing the whole story, knowing how much Sam had held back, would affect Dean. And now, as Dean silently cried while clinging to Sam like he might disappear if Dean let go, Sam realized. Dean had always known, either by figuring out or being told by Sam, what was wrong with his little brother. He probably felt he had failed Sam, knowing how bad it had gotten. And knowing Dean, he probably blamed himself for not picking up on it earlier, for not forcing it out of Sam.

"I'm sorry," Sam offered brokenly.

"No, _I'm_ sorry."

"I'll forgive if you do?" Sam offered. He knew it would be impossible to completely remove Dean's guilt so he did the next best thing he could think of.

"Agreed."

Another few minutes of silence and Sam was once again on the verge of sleep when Dean dragged him back.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You know what I'm going to ask."

"You're gonna ask me to stop cutting."

"I'm gonna ask you to stop cutting."

"But-"

"No buts, Sammy, please, I-I…"

"Dean, I don't…I don't think I _can_ stop."

TBC…

**As much as I love doing review replies, sadly I don't have enough time today. I'll pick back up next chapter as they're quite fun for me! Just know I appreciate them all and am grateful for the amazing response this story has recieved!**


	19. Stand By Me

**Sorry, for taking so long, I was majorly busy studying and what not. **

**Warnings: Bullying, self-harm, swearing  
>Disclaimer: See chap 1<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Word Count: 2,300<br>Chapter: 19/ 20 or 21  
>Next Update: Wednesday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<br>****Chapter 19: Stand By Me**

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><p>Sam's leg bounced nervously, foot tapping quietly on the beige carpet. Two days had passed since the fateful car accident. Sam had dwelled on it almost constantly; how things could have changed. Would things just keep going like that? A never ending story of self harm and mental belittling? When would it end? When he was finally pushed over the cliff and ended it all? That was quite a frightening thought. It scared Sam stiff and sometimes he was thankful for what had transpired. At other times…<p>

"Knock it off, you're driving me mad!" Dean cried, glaring at Sam and his repetitively tapping foot.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled quietly. He got to his feet and shuffled into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. Sam plopped down on the couch and stared blankly at the TV. But even the less than captivating TV plot line couldn't hold his attention for more than a minute and soon he was tossing and turning restlessly.

The pull was becoming too strong. The desire to release it all in the small trickle of blood was overwhelming. Dean knew it too, that was why he had patiently put up with Sam's madness the last few days.

Since Sam was suspended and Dean had taken the day off from work they were both home all of Monday. John had gone to met up with Bobby for some small poltergeist hunt nearby. Sam knew Dean would rather be off hunting with John than back babysitting him, but they were probably scared Sam would off himself the second they left him alone. They certainly acted like it anyway. Dean had even requested to sleep in Sam's room, claiming he got lonely sleeping in a different room than his brother.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You're doing it again," Dean said without drawing his eyes from the TV screen, hands mechanically wiping a gun barrel with a rag.

"Doing what?"

"Taping your finger on the couch arm again."

"Oh," was all Sam could offer as he realized he had indeed been tapping the soft fabric without realizing it. "So-"

"So help me God, Sam, if you end that with sorry, I will kick your ass myself," Dean warned.

"Sor-"

"Sam!"

"S-I mean, got it." Sam very nearly apologized for apologizing, but managed to catch himself at the last minute.

"You know," Dean said with a sigh after a minute of silence, "it's not really the tapping that's bothering me."

"Okay," Sam said quietly. He knew what it was, but he'd really rather simply avoid the topic.

"It's knowing that you're sitting there wanting nothing more than to hurt yourself and you're tapping your finger because you can't."

"Okay," Sam said again.

"Do you wanna…I don't know, go the movies or something?"

"Dean, we can't spare the money-"

"Chill, dude, I got some spare change from the garage. Lets go, right now, you and me." Sam sighed, resigned to the fact he would be going.

"Fine, give me a minute to find some socks," he said before turning and heading towards his room.

"Uh…" Sam turned around to see Dean standing seemingly unable to decide whether to follow Sam or not.

"Dude, I'm not gonna do anything, just need to find some socks," Sam said, both frustrated and touched by Dean's super-protective streak that had flared up.

"I'll grab you some," Dean finally said. Dean brushed past Sam and slid into Sam's room. Rolling his eyes, Sam snagged his jacket off the hook next to the door and was just putting it on when Dean came back out.

"What's this?" He asked with a confused look on his face. Sam's eyes traveled down to the item in Dean's hand.

It was his sketchpad.

"What…where did you get that?" Sam asked, sounding more accusatory than he meant.

"It was in your bag, I was grabbing socks," Dean said like a five year old trying to explain why he took the cookie from the cookie jar.

Dean brought it closer and started to open it sending a flare of panic through Sam.

"No!" he cried, launching himself forward. Like the ninja he was, Dean swiftly dodged and dashed into the kitchen.

Sam tried so hard to get there before Dean could get the cover open. But try as he might Dean beat him to it and flipped open the cover, eyes widening slightly in shock.

The first picture in the sketchpad was one Sam knew almost better than the back of his hand. They had been taking a break from hunting for a few days at some cabin up by one of the Great Lakes. Sam and Dean had gone fishing one afternoon, just the two of them. Sam had gotten up to grab a soda then turned back and had seen the scene he had produced onto the very first page of his new sketchpad. Dean had been sitting on the edge of the dock, facing away, pole in the water, beer at his side. The water had shimmered, showing no signs of the fish race for the bait taking place below the surface. It had been so peaceful. And Sam had wanted to stand there forever, just looking at Dean, who hadn't looked so relaxed in years.

And now Dean was looking at that very picture. Sam wanted nothing more than to know what Dean was thinking right then, but Dean was a hunter and let no emotion slip past his mask. Was Dean amazed? Was he thinking Sam was pathetic? Or weak? Maybe he thought Sam was just plain old stupid for taking the initiative to draw something so pointless.

"Sam, did – did you do this?" Sam leapt forward and ripped the pad right out of Dean's hands, not noticing a paper fall out and land softly on the floor.

"Give me that!" he screeched. He drew the book tight to him and wrapped his arms around it like a shield.

"But, Sam-"

"No!" Sam cried, eyes started to tear up. Great, more proof of what a stupid girl he was.

"Sam-"

"No, don't say it! Don't say it!" Tears ran down his cheeks and Sam wanted to scream. He spun on his heel and ran to his room as though Dean was chasing him with a knife. Sam closed the door, locked it, then dragged the small chair from the corner of the room and shoved it under the knob – Dean could pick locks, after all.

His knees folded and he slid down the door, coming to rest against the side of the chair, sketchpad still held to his chest.

Sure enough, not five minutes later, Sam heard the knob jiggle and then a shove against the door.

"Sam," Dean called, voice muffled by the light wood. Sam curled in on himself even tighter.

"Sammy, please, please open the door." Sam ignored him. There was a sigh from the other end, then after a moment's pause, the sound of footsteps heading back down the hall.

Sam laid the sketchpad down in front of him and tentatively opened it as though it might sting him. Each page brought a memory, so perfectly preserved through graphite. His fingers traveled the lines on their own accord while his mind worked to attach the picture to a moment in time.

There were birthdays, single faces with eyes so carefully constructed to show the emotion of the moment and there were simpler things, empty bottles, flowers, animals…and of course, the dog. There was something strange about that dog, Sam decided. What it was, he may never know, but there was something…

On the next page was a picture that used to always elicit a smile from Sam. It was one of few that solely had Sam in it. Sam's face was slightly scrunched up in a perfect bitch face, tiny drops dangling from the ends of his wet hair. The soda can was still in his hand. Sam had remember how pissed he'd been at Dean. His first soda in weeks and Dean snuck up on him, startling him mid-sip causing Sam to jolt and slosh soda all down his face. But then afterwards, Sam had laughed just as hard as Dean, taking one for the team. They needed laughter and Sam was more than willing to be the item of humility if it meant a good laugh with Dean.

But that had been then.

The sound of voices floated down the hall and Sam marveled at how long he had been, looking through the photos, if his dad was already home.

Silence fell on the house again and Sam found himself subconsciously holding his breath so not as to make any noise. Then the sound of footfalls came again and shortly after there was another knock on the door. Sam hoped to God it wasn't his dad because that would be much worse than if it was Dean.

"Sammy?" Dean asked softly. Sam closed his eyes and curled up slightly. "Sam, I know you're there, I can see your shadow…please, Sammy, just open the door, we need to talk."

"No," Sam said quietly, willing himself not to cry more.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, practically pleading.

Sam wasn't even aware of his decision, but he soon found himself slowly dragging the chair away from the door and unlocking it. But he still needed some time; to collect his thoughts and get his emotions reigned in.

Very slowly he opened the door and said simply, "Shower," then brushed past Dean into the bathroom. He heard Dean quickly intake a breath, but Sam ignored him. He wasn't going to do _that._ He truly just wanted a shower.

Finally, almost twenty minutes later, Sam stepped out of the shower feeling relatively calmer. He'd reached a decision, well sort of. It was more like he had come to terms with the situation. What would be, would be. If Dean laughed in his face and said he was a stupid girl, Sam would laugh along and say he didn't like drawing anymore anyway.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open his bedroom door. He could have sworn he saw Dean shove something in his sketchpad just as Sam entered, but he probably imagined it.

They stared at each other for a few minutes, Sam still standing by the door with his hand still on the knob.

"So."

"So," Sam said, wishing Dean would just spit it out. Hanging in suspense was killing him.

"Sam, I think you know what I'm gonna say." Sam wanted to cry. Despite all his mental preparation, he had still held out hope that Dean wouldn't think it was stupid. God, Sam was the stupid one. He had even dared to hope that maybe Dean would be _proud._ Sam was so pathetic.

"I know," Sam rushed to explain, feeling that if he proved that he too thought it was stupid before Dean even got a chance to say it then maybe it would redeem Sam a bit in Dean's eyes. "I know it's stupid, I was just messing around, just bored. And they don't matter, they're horrible anyway and-" Excuses spewed from Sam's mouth, ignoring Dean's ever widening eyes.

"Sam, stop!" Sam froze. This was it. Dean was sick of his excuses; didn't believe them. He was about to chew Sam out.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Sam choked out.

"Sam!" Sam was so confused. Why wouldn't Dean just admit he was ashamed of Sam? Why was he putting up this act? Delaying the inevitable?

Suddenly Dean sprung up from the bed, causing Sam to jerk back slightly, his back slamming into the door.

"Woah, Sammy!"

"Just spit it out!" Sam cried. He was sick of being given the run around.

"Spit what out?"

"I don't know! Whatever you're gonna say, whatever ridicule you have to dish out, whatever mockery you want to lay on me. Just do it!"

"I – what? Sam, no. I – I…I was gonna say that they're good. Amazing actually. I'm stunned beyond believe by them, though now I'm worried about why you'd think that I would make fun of you."

"Well, it's not exactly a manly sport now is it?" Sam scoffed. He was just waiting for Dean to scream gotcha and burst out laughing.

"Why does it matter if it's manly? There are just as many men artists as there are woman. What about that dude who painted that ceiling somewhere…or, or that guy who made the-the-you know, the one with that woman who's like smiling, but not…"

"The Mona Lisa?"

"Yeah, that one! I mean, Sam, those drawings were incredible. How could you think I'd laugh at you? I'm proud as hell that my little brother could make something so awesome! You've got some serious skill!"

"Yeah, but it's not something hunters do-"

"Says who?"

"I don't know!" Sam cried out. He was so confused. Dare he hope that Dean was telling the truth?

"Sam, man, you're my brother. I will always support you because if it matters to you, it matters to me. Hell, you could be friggin' ballerina and I'd be there cheering you on!"

Sam could help but snicker.

"A ballerina, Dean, really?"

"Hey, I was on the spot alright?"

"Whatever you say, Dean."

"Shut up, bitch. I'm gonna go get some dinner ready and while you're waiting, you should really comb out your hair," Dean said as he rose to his feet and headed for the door.

"What?" Sam's face scrunched up in confusion. "I just combed my hair!" Dean reached out and messed Sam's wet hair up.

"Really? It doesn't look combed to me," Dean said before leaving.

TBC…

**Sarah: **I'm with you, I like emotional chapters a lot, sometimes more than action-y ones.

**Nyx Ro: **Thanks! That's a very good point, but I'm not 100% sure I agree with the statement that self harm is less damaging than smoking or drinking. I'll agree that it's silly that people don't seem to view those as dangerous in comparison to self harm, but I'd put them on the same level. I might mention the second point in the last chapter, as it works well with where I have it going, but no promises.

**judyann: **I do know you have been waiting for that! Did you enjoy some more brotherly shmoop? Dean just might, after all, I can't imagine Dean would let Mike get away with it. Did you like the premiere? Oh man I loved it!

**Raven: **Why did you read if you didn't like? I'm sorry, but I don't see how you feel Sam did not self harm. I know too, so don't think I don't have some idea what I'm talking about. All chapters were written out ahead of time and writing these replies takes time because I like to put time and some thought into them. That's a difference of 5 minutes to post or 30 minutes to write these replies. I do have a life outside of writing, I go to school and have homework and all that and if you feel that it's strange that I didn't have enough time to write replies, than I would say you have a bit too much time on your own hands. I apologized in the chapter for not having time to review and I did say I was very glad for all the reviews, so I fail to see how you feel I was taking all the reviews for granted.

**Supernaturalrenegade: **Eye feeling better? You will get a little dose of John in the next chapter, so not too much longer and you'll know the answer.

**Hummingfox: **Yup, big bro Dean is back! Of course, Dena won't let Sammy take anymore hits! You'll find out about John in the next chapter. Mike is a little unaware of exactly what he has gotten himself into ;) You were right, it was the dog. Did you get your paper all done?

**Fledglingfeathers: **Sorry, for the longer wait! There, even more brotherly love! And there'll probably be even more to come!

**Supernaturalmad: **My story is already written out, so it's too late. Sorry. Why don't you write a story with yourself in it if you want it to be written so badly? I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just curious.

**D767468: **Who doesn't love the two brothers one the same side? Oh, you're good ;)

**Cartoon Cow: **Same here, I live for weekends. Did you have a good time? It was the dog, that'll be explored further the next chapter.

**Sammy4evacausehesawesome: **Well thank you, though I do apologize for the cliffhanger. :P

**TinTin11: **Thanks! It's not easy to initiate a chickflick mo without getting out of character. And yes, the premiere was fantastic. :D

**Nadiadino23: **Thank you! It might be a while before I update Taking Over Me, but you have renewed my interest in it – I hadn't realized anyone was actually into that story. I'll try to get working on that and see if I can't update soon ;)

**Cocainesluts, LeighAnnWallace, Sparkiebunny, Melly **(What does that first part mean?) **Lizzieten, caz21: **Thanks, they all mean so much to me!


	20. Serendipity

**Okay, okay don't kill me! I know I'm super late, but it's just been one thing after another for quite a while! **

**This chapter is dedicated to Little Miss Artist and Supernaturalrenegade because without either of them you'd all be waiting another week for this update!**

**So this chapter is all Sam and John. I'm sorry it's a little short but it just seemed like a good place to stop. I hope John isn't too out of character.**

**On that note, there is only one more chapter. There are like a zillion things I need to wrap up so it'll hopefully be longer. **

**Warnings: see chap 1  
>Disclaimer: See chap 1<br>Beta: Little Miss Artist  
>Word Count: 1,800<br>Chapter: 20/21  
>Next Update: Friday<strong>

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><p><strong>Textus<strong>

**Chapter 20: Serendipity**

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><p>Sam took a deep breath. He was tired of waiting, might as well get it over with.<p>

As much as his conversation with Dean had brought nothing but relief, he knew it was far from over. There was still John. And Sam had a feeling John would be pissed to hell about everything.

But no one came. All morning Sam sat in his room, mostly reading or staring at the ceiling, just waiting for John to come, but he never showed. Dean had gone back to work and John had stayed behind so Sam knew he was there.

It was like watching a horror movie when the girl goes back into the house, but you know the killer is actually in there. Dramatic irony? Is that what the English teacher had called it? So then you're sitting there, just waiting for the killer to strike…

But he never had. And eventually the waiting got to Sam so he crawled from his room and walked down the hall like he was sentencing his own damnation.

He slowly poked his head around the corner of the door to see John standing by the stove.

Sam knew it wouldn't last. The home cooked meals and the putting up with his less than jovial mood. Soon, probably once they left town, it'd end. The werewolf hunt was that Friday, three days away. Then they'd move on and pretend like it never happened. Just like they always did.

Someday Sam would make it stop. Someday he'd go to college and make something out of himself. And someday he'd have his chance at normal.

But someday was a long way away. And right now, he just needed to take it one step at a time. And if that meant poking the sleeping bear, then so be it. Better than standing outside the entrance, being lulled into a false sense of security, only for the bear to wake up and catch you unaware.

"Dad?" he said quietly.

"Took you long enough." Right, of course John realized he'd been standing by the door for almost three minutes. He was a hunter. And apparently Sam was a moron.

Sam gathered all his nerves, shoved them in the Ignore Box in the back room of his head, and walked into the kitchen.

This was it. He didn't even know what he wanted to say, just that he wanted to say it. Come clean about something. Really what he wanted was to throw himself forward and have John wrap his arms around his son and just hold him there, enjoying the moment. He wanted a father. Not a drill sergeant. Not a brother who played the father. A real father who would support him and encourage him and tell him to strive for his dreams; one who'd be proud of him for his academic achievements, hell maybe even encourage him to try harder and aim for an Ivy league. Right now he'd be lucky if he could get into a community college. Assuming John even let him apply, which Sam doubted.

But no. He got John.

It wasn't that he didn't love his family. Of course he did. He'd do anything and everything for them in an instant. But that didn't mean he didn't want a little for himself.

"Um, what's for dinner?"

What's for dinner? Seriously? Twenty minutes mental preparation to ask what was for dinner? Honestly.

"Spaghetti."

"Oh…okay." Great, Sam, great job. Mission Clear the Air Between Sam and Dad? Fail. Mission Act like an Idiot? Complete success.

"Yeah," John said awkwardly.

Sighing, Sam turned to go.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Was there something you wanted to say?" It sounded weird coming from John, but Sam appreciated that John was throwing him a line.

"Yes…I don't know…I guess I just figured you'd be mad." Sam felt like a five year old.

"I was…and I guess I still am a bit…I just don't understand," John said, sounding frustrated with himself.

"Well…" Sam said slowly. He wasn't used to John like this. Usually he was emotionless and always confident in himself and it was just weird to see him as anything but.

"What do you want me to say?" Sam asked, like it wasn't him who'd wanted the conversation in the first place.

"I just don't get why! What is so wrong about everything? Don't you get that I try? I try so damn hard and Dean tries and we all try and you just don't appreciate any of it and, God, Sam, give us a little slack now and then. Because I'm doing the best I can and I need to do this and I can't understand why you don't get that and-" He was taking very fast by the end and waving his hands around wildly, splattering the walls with dots of spaghetti sauce from the spoon still in his hand.

Sam was lost. But he could tell the storm was coming. John rambling was never a good thing. It was the clouds rolling in. He was about to ask John to clarify when he realized John was still going, quicker still.

"Dean was so easy and you're so hard. And sometimes I think you do it intentionally just to piss me off. You're not in it and I get that but I wish you'd get in it because it's damn tiring fighting with you on everything and I get that school is important to you, but don't be selfish, there are other things-"

"Don't call me that!" Sam screeched. His eyes lit up with fury and his hands curled into fists by his side.

"What? Selfish? News flash, Sam, it doesn't evolve around you-"

"No!" Sam screamed. "Don't you call me selfish." Sam was closing in. Nearing his father in height, Sam used his tallness to his ability as he got right up in his father's face. "You have no damn right to call me that, you hypocrite!"

"Samuel! Don't you use that tone with me-" But Sam wasn't finished. Wouldn't be finished until he had damn well said it all. Leaping in front of the train only got you flattened, it certainly didn't stop the wild engine.

"You who drag me and Dean all over the fucking country, from shit hole to shit hole so you can go on some wild goose chase after the man who killed a mother I never knew!"

"Don't talk about your mother like that!"

"I'm not finished!" Oh Lordie was he going to be in trouble. "We could have just gone on with our lives – normal lives! No lies and no scams and no moving around!"

"After what happened to your mother? After I found out what was out there? How could I go on in good conscious knowing people were being killed everyday? Hunting is the only revenge we can get."

"Revenge on what? Huh, Dad, answer that. Did that werewolf you're gonna gank on Friday kill mom? Because I'm pretty sure it didn't."

"That-"

"And we only find a hunt if enough people die for us to notice. So what, four people die for us to maybe save one?"

"Better one than none-"

"And you realize it will never end right? We'll just keep fighting for ever and ever. Evil isn't gonna stop coming, Dad. So then what? We just keep going until we die? Until one of us is killed in some hunt?"

"Don't say that!" Sam was almost hesitated. Almost. That was the first time in probably forever that Sam had ever heard any shred of weakness in his Dad's voice. But Sam was on a rampage, and bulls don't stop easily.

"You don't think it's gonna happen? Seriously, Dad? We've each had how many brushes with death already? And in case you haven't noticed, we have luck from hell. Sooner or later it's gonna catch up with one of us. Then what? We just keep going until the next one drops?"

"Samuel Winchester! You shut your mouth right now before I shut it for you!"

"What the hell is going on?" Both head turned sharply to see Dean standing in the doorway, keys still hanging limply from his hand.

Still breathing deeply, Sam shot one last glare at John before storming for the door. Dean, having one of his occasional moments of brilliance, stepped aside quickly.

Right before he left, Sam turned around to face his small family. They seemed to be holding their breath almost, just waiting to so what would happen.

"YOU NEVER LISTEN!" Sam screamed so loudly he wouldn't be surprised if birds were flying from the trees ten miles away.

He turned on his heel and stormed into his room.

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><p>"Sam?"<p>

"Dean, go away."

"That's great, but I'm not Dean." Sam froze. He thought it would be Dean. He didn't think his dad would come. Why was he there anyway? To yell some more? Sam was done yelling. They'd done too much already.

And in honesty, he felt bad. Really bad. He had no right to say the things he did. He didn't mean most of them. But selfish was just too close to home. After all, that one tiny word had started it all.

"Go away."

The door opened. John stood in the doorway awkwardly.

"What?" Sam couldn't help but snap. He didn't turn to look. He remained laying eagle-spread on his bed, face staring at the ceiling like the cracks spelled out the answers.

Sam could see John shift from the corner of his eye.

"Sam…"

Sam wasn't sure what it was that made him do it. Maybe it was the weary exhaustion that should never be in his dad's voice. Or maybe it was the flare of guilt in him. Or maybe he had simply finally had his fill of the fighting.

Whatever his reasons, there wasn't the tiniest bit of hesitation.

Sam was out of the bed, across the room and wrapping his arms around John before he even realized he'd gotten up.

"'m sorry, 'm sorry," he muttered over and over again.

There was a sudden chill in his spine.

What on Earth was he doing?

John was like the King of No Emotions and here Sam was, breaking down like a baby. What would John do? Would he shove him back and declare him weak?

But to Sam's surprise, John's arms came around him just as tightly as Sam's had. Pulling Sam to his chest, John rested his chin on Sam's head.

"So am I kiddo."

TBC…

**Review Replies:**

**Judyann: **Well I do strive for maximum mushiness ;) Well I couldn't have Dean stomping down on poor Sammy's talent! The ballerina lines is one of my favorites, though it was a last minute add in. I know! I'm loving season 7!

**Sammy4evacasuehesawesome: **Well, good. Oh, yes, Dean will indeed be kicking some ass. Next chapter, then you'll get your ass kicking Dean. Thanks!

**Hummingfox: **Well, yeah! I couldn't have Dean killing Sam's passion! Sadly, no Bobby, just the Winchesters. Honestly, I kind of forgot about him *sheepish whistling* Thank you! Real life does come first and sometimes it just gets in the way!

**Raven: **I apologize for not researching the topic thoroughly enough. I'll keep that in mind in the future. I'm pretty sure I never said it was me and I think that was a bit inappropriate of you to ask me that so I won't answer. Though, you're definitely right that FF is for good and bad reviews. It's criticism and I will definitely try and make sure I research the topic more in the future.

**Nyx Ro: **They are indeed his own worst enemy. That's very interesting, I didn't know that. Thanks!

**TinTin11: **Next chapter, just one more chapter and you'll get to find out about the dog. Just hang on!

**PenguinLova0720: **Don't worry about it, I understand. Thanks. Oh, you're good, next chapter and you'll see how close you are.

**Casammy: **Couldn't agree more. Sam is never alone and it really is more important his relationship with Dean then his relationship with John. Thanks!

**LeighAnnWallace, jennytork, supernaturalmad, sarah, fledglingfeathers, lizzieten, sparkiebunny, Hi there: **Thanks, love to hear from you all, no matter how short or long!


	21. Retributive Justice

**Well, sadly we have reached the conclusion. I tried to make sure everything was nicely wrapped up. It's been an incredible ride and I thank you all for your wonderful support, whether you reviewed or not. **

**Also, review replies are going at the top this time because my computer is throwing a temper tantrum. **

**PS: Textus? Several of you have asked what it means. Textus is Latin for web (or to weave as a verb)**

**To any of you who follow me as an author: It may be a while before I get anything new up because 1-I want to get stuff written down before I start posting 2-I'm working on some original pieces and 3- I really need to focus on school for now.**

**Warnings: see chap 1  
>Disclaimer: See chap 1<br>Beta: None, all mistakes are my own  
>Word Count: 2,500<br>Chapter: Final (how sad is that?)**

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><p><strong>Review Replies:<strong>

**Lizzieten: **Aw, thanks! Same here, sad it's ending but I'm eager to get started with something else.

**Sarah: **Sorry in the delay last time, RL can be so annoying! Anyway, thanks, glad you liked Sam and John.

**Nyx Ro: **I know! That's just how Winchesters do it. They like to leave a lot unsaid. But the message is still there.

**Fledgingfeathers: **Same here! John is one of the most controversially written characters in my opinion. You get stories where he abuses (emotionally, physically, I've even read sexually) one or both boys then you get a story where he steps up to the 'father' plate. I think the most realistic ones are where he's not at either extreme. But that's just me.

**Supernaturalrenegade: **I'll PM more response later, but just had to say this: THANK YOU! That is exactly how I feel. Brilliantly said.

**Raven: **Don't worry, it's all good. I've done that type of thing a few times myself, just kinda get caught up in the moment's emotions. But anyway, thanks!

**Cartoon Cow: **I'll have Dean on standby in case of tear-shed ;)

**Tripoli: **Well I do so love to surprise you all. Thanks!

**Judyann: **Aww, thanks! You'll get your kickass Dean in just a few paragraphs, I promise.

**Casammy: **I am too. Family conquers all. Winchesters are living proof of that (well sort of living as I suppose they're not technically real) Same here, I'm still a teen and I still get those moments of hatred towards my parents, but they never last. Thanks for your long and detailed reviews again and again, always gives me joy!

**Hummingfox: **That's John for you. Caring in a strange, roundabout way! I thought having the emotional fallout be between John and Sam instead of Dean and Sam like usual was a nice way to shake it up (got to keep you readers on your toes) You'll get the explanation of the dog in a few paragraphs, I assure you ;)

**Loucheena: **Thanks for reading, even if you didn't review. Glad you agree with Sammy. Exactly, sometimes you've got to fight your own battles. Sam is stronger, more so than he realizes.

**Caz21, Sparkiebunny, supernaturalmad: **Thanks for reviewing, again and again, you guys are incredible.

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><p><strong>Textus<br>Chapter 21: Retributive Justice**

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><p>So far away from knowing where I am going<br>I am trying hard to find out who I am  
>They all say that I don't know what I am doing<br>I say they don't hardly understand

Why can't they remember  
>What I will never forget<br>How these dreams come undone  
>When you're young<p>

You give what you give cause they make you  
>Trapped inside a place that won't take you<br>And they want you to be what they make you  
>It's already over and done<br>When you're young

~When You're Young - 3 Doors Down

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><p>Dean leaned up against the telephone pole, waiting for his prey.<p>

The school bell rang and students immediately poured from the double doors, but Dean didn't even move an inch. He was a hunter, and hunters had the patience to out-stare a wall if need be.

Finally the one person Dean was waiting for came into view. Like a lion hiding in the brush, Dean waited still. His prey came to him, not the other way around. After a minute or two, the three boys came down the sidewalk and crossed in front of Dean. They were going to be in for quite a shock.

With a combination of grace, swiftness, and silence only a hunter could achieve, Dean leapt forward.

With two swift punches, Dean felled the two boys Sam had deemed Blondie and Stubble. Blood leaked from their now broken noses as well as from the back of their heads from where they hit the unforgiving sidewalk.

That left a very shocked Mike standing there.

"What the hell, man?" he stammered, eyes roving over his fallen friends. Dean leapt forward and pushed him up against the telephone pole.

"Oh, this?" Dean said casually, while gesturing a head at the two unconscious boys. "This is revenge."

"B-but we never did nothing to you!"

"Never said you did," Dean hissed. He yanked some rope from his pocket and, after forcing Mike's arms around to the other side of the pole, looped it around the struggling teens wrists.

"W-what are you doing?" he shouted as Dean slid back into his view. He bent down and slipped the boys skateboard sneakers off and looped the laces together. Over the wire they went.

Next the socks. And then came his baggy jeans. They were pulled off in one quick motion while Mike howled like a wounded cat. They too went over the wire. Mike had fallen from power in less than a minute and he wasn't going to fight it, he was going to cry about it. A smirk crossed the hunters face as Mike began to stammer and his eyes watered up.

As much as Dean would love to draw it out, he had to hurry. He had to get back to Sammy and besides, a teacher could come along at any moment. He was only just outside the school parking lot.

Dean leaned forward so his nose was only an inch or so from Mike's. There were wet tears sliding down Mike's cheek and small whimpers slipping between his lips. The surrounding students cheered.

In a deadly quiet voice that only Mike would be able to hear, Dean whispered, "Be thankful for my mercy. If I find out you've fucked with anyone else you'll be dead before you hit the ground. Am I clear?"

Mike's eyes had gone as round as saucers and he nodded frantically, more tears spilling down his face.

"Good," Dean said before standing up. He turned to go, but Mike finally spoke up.

"Wait, aren't you gonna let me go?"

Still facing away, but turning his head ever slightly, Dean said, "Why? You didn't let Sam go, now did you?"

And with that he left.

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><p>"Oh, and Sam?" John asked right before leaving Sam's room.<p>

"Yeah?"

"We'll be staying until Sunday, just so you know."

"Why?" Sam asked, rather hesitantly. It couldn't be…John couldn't know…

John pulled something out of his pocket and extended the orange paper to Sam.

"There's an art show I want to go to on Saturday."

Sam's jaw completely dropped.

"T-there is?" John was actually going to let him? Sam waited for John to leap back and declare it a joke.

He didn't.

"Yeah, there's one artist in particular that I'm really interesting in seeing."

"And what if you don't like the artist's work?" Sam couldn't help but ask.

"That's not possible. Over the years this artist has made me proud again and again just as I'm sure he'll do in this."

John gave Sam a quick wink before slipping out of the door.

A huge smile slid onto Sam's face and he stood there grinning stupidly at the closed door for almost five minutes. It was true he didn't have a very long time to get his piece for the art show done, but he had no doubt he'd be able to do it.

But first there was some other unfinished business he needed to attend to.

Sam reached under the bead and pulled out his sketchpad. There was a faint dust across the cover, but Sam just blew it off. He wouldn't let it happen again.

He flipped open the front cover and froze.

There it was. But how?

The picture of Sam and Dean at Sam's tenth birthday. The very same picture Sam had ripped up that night that seemed eons ago. It was taped together on the back so the tape didn't show on the front then slipped into a paper protector to keep it from falling apart further.

But how?

Sam didn't dwell on it - he needed to get to work - and got back to the task at hand.

Opening up to a page in the middle, Sam began. Without so much as a pause, Sam put pencil to paper and didn't stop until he was done.

Nearly half and hour later, he sat back to admire his work.

It was perfect.

"Sammy?" Dean called shortly before the front door shut. Dean was back with perfect timing.

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed eagerly and, sketchpad in hand, walked down the hallway. There was a faint spring in his step that had too long been absent.

"Hey, Dean, can I show you something?"

"Sure, kid, shoot," Dean said, as he tossed his leather jacket onto the coat rack.

"Here." Sam lifted the sketchpad up for Dean's inspection.

"Holy crap, man, this is awesome! Really realistic! That Monet guy hasn't got anything on you!"

"Monet was an impressionist, Dean, that's an entirely different style of art."

"Yeah, well whatever, he hasn't got anything on you," Dean said with a shrug before grabbing a beer from the fridge.

"Oh, and Dean?" Sam asked right before leaving.

"Yeah?"

"The picture at my birthday…did you-"

"Found it in the trash and thought you might want it back."

"Oh. Well, Dean? Thanks." Sam said before exiting. As he walked down the hall he looked down happily at the picture of a brown scruffy dog lying casually on some soft grass.

It was finally done.

Now he just had to figure out his 'Best Memory' and he'd be all set. He sat down on his bed and tried to brainstorm a few ideas, but none of them seemed right. They were good, but not the best…

"Hey, Sam," Dean called as he knocked and entered before Sam had time to reply.

"Yeah?"

"Guess what? Dad's actually taking us out to dinner!"

"Seriously?" Sam asked, immediately perking up. Dinner? Out? Were the pigs flying?

"Yeah! He wants to know where we want to go, as long as it's not too expensive. So what do you want for dinner, little bro?" Dean sat down next to him, giving him a look like that of a reporter interviewing a huge star.

"Something light, I don't know, maybe a salad."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"A salad? Really? You could have, like, some fancy-smancy pasta dish or hell, even breakfast for dinner and you choose a salad?"

"What? It's good for you and good tasting."

"Right, Sam, whatever you say. But real men eat burgers. You're such a girl." Dean seemed to hesitate for a moment, unsure if he'd said too much. Sam smiled causing relief to slide onto Dean's face. Sam didn't want them to have to censor themselves around him. He just wanted things to go back to how they used to be.

"Don't be a jerk."

"Bitc-wait, what? No, no, no, you can't do that!"

"Do what?"

"You say jerk and I say bitch or vice versa, there are no don't be's here."

"Dean, seriously?"

"it's jerk, not don't be a jerk."

"Dean, relax, it's not that big of a-"

"Geesh, Sam get your line right," Dean said before walking out of the room. Sam followed Dean with his eyes, mouth hanging open, incredulity written all of his face.

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><p>Outside the window, watching the Winchester boys, was a large, scruffy dog. If a dog could smile, then he would have been.<p>

It certainly hadn't been easy. Sam Winchester was a stubborn one. It had put his skills to the test. But in the end, in his most creative plan yet, he'd managed to get the boy to open up by jumping in front of that large car of theirs.

He wasn't sure what it was that had drawn to the youngster. Normally he only offered help when a person came to The Garden and prayed for help from one of the Guardians.

But when he'd laid eyes on the young one walking home, he'd known that young Sam was in for an adventure and would need a little guidance along the way. And finally, almost three weeks later he'd managed to get Sam to open up to his family and let them in, even if it wasn't exactly willingly.

With that wonderful feeling that could only come with success, the Guardian disappeared in a light yellow glow.

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><p>"Dude, chill," Dean said as he peeked over the back of the passenger seat to see Sam's leg tapping out some staccato rhythm. "You'll be fine."<p>

"What if it's bad? What if they don't like it?" Sam said, voice pitching every slightly.

"Well I'm sure it's fine, but I couldn't say for sure since you refused to show me!"

"I wanted it to be a surprise, Dean."

"But-

"Boys! Sam, it'll be fine, I'm sure it looks great and, Dean, leave Sam alone. If he wants it to be a surprise, then it's up to him."

"Yes Sir," they both replied. Dean turned back to face out the front window while Sam looked out the side window. He shifted the drawing under his arm. John had even taken him out to buy a sheet of the larger, good quality paper. Sam had it covered so no one would see it until the show. He wanted it to be a surprise for Dean and John. Particularly Dean, who Sam knew was dying to see what Sam had chosen as his best memory.

They were en route to the art show at the moment and Sam was a bundle of nerves. He wasn't sure why, he really had no reason to be. The piece of art was one of, if not his best. And it definitely represented one of his best memories, as silly and trivial it seemed.

"What the hell?" John said suddenly.

Sam jerked his head to look out the front window and his jaw dropped at the sight.

Hanging from an electrical wire was not only a pair of shoes, but two socks and a pair of jeans. And the shoes looked vaguely familiar…

John gave a small shake of his head, and after tutting, said, "Kids of today have no respect for anything. Who'd want to do something like that?"

Dean peeked over his shoulder and slipped a sly wink to Sam. And just like that Sam understood exactly what had happened; what Dean had done for him. As much as he should feel slightly guilty for Mike's humiliation – after all, no matter how bad it was, he'd never wish it on anyone else - he really didn't. In fact, he actually got a tiny sliver of satisfaction.

"Yeah, who indeed?" Dean said.

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><p>Dean and John came up behind Sam just as he finished tacking up the little card with his name, age and school next to his picture. Sam hurried to stand in front of it to block their view.<p>

"Hey," Dean said with a smile, "you know, this place is actually pretty cool, there's some serious awesomeness here."

"Um, glad you're enjoying yourself?"

"So can we see this masterpiece of yours?" Dean asked.

Taking a deep breath, Sam stepped aside.

John and Dean's jaws dropped in perfect unison.

Sam had spent a long time debating his best memory. He eliminated all hunt related memories immediately. And which was better: a memory with just him and Dean or a memory with him, Dean and John in one of his rare moments of being a father.

Finally he'd picked one.

It was in the kitchen of some previously rented house from when Sam was eleven or so. It was Thanksgiving, the first one in a long time John had been with them to celebrate. The Winchesters weren't exactly rolling in money, so they'd decided to make blueberry muffins. Not exactly traditional, but when had Winchesters ever gone by the book?

Simple you say? Not with the Winchesters.

Shortly after starting, a batter fight had broken out resulting in muffin batter with small specks of blueberry coating almost everything. In the midst of the fight, Dean had lunged forward and pulled Sam onto his back in a piggyback. Sam had squealed with joy, happily shouting at Dean that he was cheating. Dean had spun around a few times, making Sam dizzier and dizzier. John had slipped away, found their disposable camera and captured the moment.

Both brothers were facing the camera, eyes alight with joy and mouths cracked open in laughter. Sam was still on Dean's back, though Dean was bent forward so they were both clearly seen. They also both had strings of batter in their hair and splattered across their face. Even the tan wall and blue backsplash had spatters of un-baked muffin on it.

It wasn't the most symbolic and it wasn't the most mushy-chick-flick-moment. It was just fun. It was just family. It was just the small moments in life.

But those _were_ the best moments in his life.

They were being a family, doing normal family things – well as close to normal as they would ever come.

And Sam had learned to cherish the small moments.

John and Dean stood frozen and Sam started to worry that they didn't like it and just didn't know how to tell him.

"I-I know it's not-"

"It's amazing," Dean said, sounding truly in awe.

"I remember that day," John said with a trace of a smile gracing his lips.

Dean's eyes traveled from the picture over to Sam. In one swift movement, Dean came forward and pulled Sam into a tight embrace.

"Great job, Sammy, I'm so proud of you, little bro."

And finally, _finally_, Sam could remember who he had been.

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><p><em>"What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive,"<br>~Sir Walter Scott  
><em>

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><p><strong><em>Fin<em>**


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